The Princesses War
by JJAndrews
Summary: Book 2: Armies, march, a continent burns and a war begins. Jon Snow is torn between his loyalty his family, the uniform he wears and Princess Radwen herself. Ned Stark amasses his armies in the Riverlands to fight the Lannisters, unaware that other forces are ready to strike against him and those he loves. Yet, as armies fight in the south, something far worse masses to the north.
1. Chapter 1

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: Welcome back everyone! I have finished first drafts of this stories first ten chapters and I will try to keep them coming out at a steady pace. So, here we go.**

 **Let the Princesses War begin.**

Chapter One

Trapped and Alone

It had rained again that night and Sansa truly thanked which ever gods had listened to her before she managed to fall asleep. Wearing her filthy linen night dress, she had been in bed when the rogue wave struck the ship, and a shawl she had made from a shredded piece of cloth, Sansa crawled out from under her shelf of rock she had taken to sleeping under over the past week and then staggered towards the dips in the rock which were, finally, filled with water. She fell to one and began to drink, ignoring the grit in the water, she was so thirsty. She looked over at Lady who was also drinking as well, her large wolf seemed sad, her sister had been shot by Farosi. If only they went with them it would all have been alright.

After emptying a few of the dips of their water Sansa stood up and carefully navigated her way towards the edge of the rock which the sea had carried herself and Lady, as well as remnants of sails which she had made into a rough blanket. Sansa grabbed some sea weed from the edge of the rock, almost slipping at one point but she managed to get a hold of the rock just in time. Lady watched her as she collected the sea weed to eat before walking off somewhere looking for sea creatures which often washed up. Lady could eat crabs and sea snails, but Sansa couldn't, especially not when they were raw. As she did every day she climbed to the top of the rock and watched for a passing ship. Every day she saw some but, no matter how hard she waved, they never saw her. She ate her seaweed and watched. For ten days now, she had been doing this routine, she and Lady went to sleep each night, her loyal wolf keeping her warm, and in the morning they would look for food. After that they sat together looking for a ship.

Two times that day Sansa spotted ships and she shouted, waved her shawl and jumped up and down but they didn't see her. After it happened the second time she screamed in frustration and kicked the ground, her foot was cut on a sharp edge of rock. Again Sansa screamed and gripped her foot, blood flowing out of the wound and she cried. Again she had cried, she had cried every day of the Hell. She wondered that if she died would her body ever be found. Would Joffrey ever come looking for her, would anyone care? She tried walking towards the shelf of rock where she thought she could make a bandage from the sails but in the end she had to crawl, if she even tried to put pressure on her foot the pain exploded through her. She crawled there where she pulled out the knife which had been washed ashore on her second night there and Sansa cut a length of sail from her blanket and wrapped it around her foot. It was a bit easier to walk now but still hurt so she found a piece of driftwood to use as a cane.

The next morning she woke up and crawled out to find it was still raining. She hated walking in the rain so she and Lady waited for over an hour until the rain changed from a deluge to a light drizzle. Still using her make shift cane she found some water to drink and then began looking for seaweed, but she only found a few pieces. When she tried to climb to the top of the rock she lost her footing on a wet rock and fell, the wind being knocked out of her and her head dazed. She sat up in time to see the cane being washed into the water before she could get it back. That was the moment she wept that day. She tried to climb to the top of the rock but now it was impossible. Lady remained with her though. The two sat together all day, Sansa's arms wrapped around her, near the sea.

That night she dreamed that she was in a bedroom, a comfortable room, not any that she knew, but it was warm and welcoming, the sound of running water close by. A warm motherly hand stroked her hair as comfortable blankets surrounded her. It all faded away and and Sansa didn't want to open her eyes, knowing that she would see her shelf of rock again and her shredded blanket. Sansa thought she could hear footsteps, but it soon became nothing more than the usual sound of the sea. Eventually she knew what she had to do. Sansa crawled out to see the sun beating down on the sea, the rock as dry as a bone where the water did not touch it. She knew there was no chance of water, but she needed to find food. Soon she climbed out from under the rocks and, down by the point where rock met water, Sansa saw something different. There was a wicker basket there so Sansa made for it quickly, limping heavily, she reached the basket and opened it, almost sobbing with joy at what she saw inside, there were apples, cheese, bread and slices of ham as well as a skin of water. Sansa grabbed an apple and bit deeply into it, the burst of flavor almost painfully good in her mouth after days of salty seaweed. In a few seconds the apple was eaten, nothing but the core left, and Lady was sitting next to her, waiting patiently. Sansa picked up most of the slices of ham and fed them to her wolf who happily licked her in return. Sansa took the basket to a shaded spot and sat there for a while, eating some cheese and she wished she could thank whoever had made the food for her. It must have gone overboard from a ship and it would keep her alive. Maybe she could survive this and find a ship to take her home.

She just needed to find a ship. She looked out across the sea, wishing, praying that someone would find her eventually.

 **AN: I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I will see you next time.**

 **Please review and let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

Chapter Two

The Wounded Lions

Tywin Lannister was not a young man. He was a feared man though, feared and respected by his enemies and vassals alike, they knew that if they were loyal to him they could rely on him, those who opposed him died. Yet, even as an older man, he still felt the emotions all men felt. He felt hatred, he hated his youngest son, he hated the fact that his daughter was a fool and, above all else now, he hated the Farosi.

As he walked through the corridors of Harrenhal, Lord Tywin thought about how much they had ruined everything, how they interrupted his plans. Many years ago, he was eating lunch at Casterly Rock on a balcony overlooking the sea when he saw a strange ship sailing towards Lannisport. When he had learned that the ship was from Farsos he quickly arranged a meeting between himself and the ships commanding officer, Captain Greenman. Tywin did not consider himself a superstitious man, so he didn't believe the stories of Farsos, that their king ruled their land from a palace made of emeralds, that their shores were guarded by a water goddess and the streets were paved with marble, but he had no doubt that their home was wealthy. If he could open trade with them it would add to his already great coffers or even gain a new ally to support him in Westeros. Unfortunately, Captain Greenman explained that a freak storm had blown them all far off course and they needed repairs. After giving him permission to remain in Lannisport for repairs Tywin barely thought about them, the Farosi had always isolated themselves from Westeros and it looked like they would remain that way.

Then the Ironborn attacked and Tywin had been helpless to stop them, his war fleet was destroyed and the only vessel which was able to fight was the _Collier,_ under the command of Captain Greenman. After the battle was over, and it looked as if the water itself was afire, Greenman returned to Castelry Rock, his sky blue uniform black with blood, and his face grim. For an hour they talked until, at last, Greenman agreed to petition the Farosi Senate and their King Lukon to help in the coming war against the Ironborn.

Tywin regretted that decision. If he hadn't then perhaps they would not be in the current disaster.

With months the Farosi returned, a small number of warships, including Greenman's own, and an army of six thousand men, commanded by King Lukon himself. A thousand of them were cavalry, not as heavily armoured as the knights of Westeros, the rest were infantry, half of them armed with muskets and the other half with pikes. Apparently the Farosi were in the middle of reforming their army and this would be the last time formations of pikemen would take the field. Tywin saw that the Farosi fought well, on land and in their ships, their artillery on land sent many Ironborn ships at Fair Isle to the bottom of the sea and on land their musketeers cut down hundreds of Ironborn soldiers. He had tried to make alliances with them since then but for some reason they never seemed interested. He had tried to buy rifles from them, but they refused, he had invited their king for official visits, but they had turned him down. Now the reason was clear. After they took the capital, Princess Radwen sent out ravens to all of the great houses of Westeros declaring that House Cassius was descended from the bastard line of House Casterly and now they were going to take back their family's property. In other words, they aimed to destroy everything Tywin had ever built, to strip him of his name, his lands and his prestige.

What made everything worse was that no one seemed to care about the Farosi. They controlled the Arbor and the latest reports suggested that things were about to get worse. Yet the leaders of his army all focused on Renly, who yes, was dangerous, with the combined might of the North, Riverlands, Reach, the Lords of the Narrow Sea and the Storm Lands, he commanded one of the largest forces in the history of Westeros but Tywin knew that the greatest threat was in the Farosi which he would now demonstrate to his bannermen.

Tywin entered the meeting hall where his bannermen, Clegane, Brax, Crakehall, Lefford, Lorch and Marbrand, were waiting for him. Sitting there were also his sons, Jaime who had led what was left of his force, reduced to barely two thousand, the rest either dead or had retreated to the Westerlands or turning to banditry. Tyrion, to Tywin's annoyance, had survived his ordeal in the Vale and had brought with him a force of three hundred mountain clansmen. They were sitting around a table with a large map of Westeros on it, the positions of the various armies marked by wooden blocks topped with small flags. Tywin slowly walked around the table, acting as if he was studying the map when he really knew it already. Finally he came close to the position of the map which showed the Arbor, a marker topped with the unicorn and gryphon of House Cassius. Tywin stopped, picked up the marker and moved it across the painted sea to Oldtown.

'The reports are true. The Farosi have attacked Oldtown and captured the city.'

'How did it fall?' asked Adam Marbrand.

'We don't know yet. The Farosi fleet have also begun attacking towns and keeps along the south west coat of the Reach.'

'They're still just a wasp next to a bear,' said Lorch. 'We need to move against the Green's.'

Since the war began nicknames had been given to the rival factions, Renly's armies were known as the Greens, Tywin's the Reds, and the Farosi were called the Blue's, thanks to their army's universal blue coats. A name for this war was being whispered amongst the small folk, the Princesses War, in honour of Princess Radwen who was the face of the Farosi operations in Westeros.

'And they will soon become a swarm of wasps,' Tyrion rebuked the large oaf. 'With control of Oldtown they can now bring reinforcements straight into Westeros, as we speak I wouldn't be surprised if thousands of Farosi soldiers are coming across the Sunset Sea.'

'There's nothing we can do about them now,' Ser Kevan spoke up. 'What we must do is gather reinforcements from the Westerlands. We need to find a way to withdraw.'

'That's easier said that done,' Jaime finally entered the discussion. 'Ned Stark has taken full command of Renly's forces in the Riverlands, he commands the Tully and Stark soldiers and is gathering more men as we speak. With his son wedded to Walder Frey's daughter he has raised enough soldiers to challenge us.'

'He is still here,' Kevan pointed at Stone Hedge. 'More Tully soldiers are marching to join him, our first attack scattered them but now they're regrouping. We have two weeks, maybe three, until he marches on us.'

'Stark at Stone Hedge,' Tyrion said aloud, 'Radwen in Kings Landing. We can't retreat, we have to fight.'

'Stark is our immediate problem,' Tywin told them. 'We need to crush Farsos as well but for now we fight Stark. We will fight him, and we will crush him.'

'It won't be easy,' Jaime told everyone. 'At Raventree Hall we charged his riflemen and were cut to ribbons.'

Before this meeting he and Jaime met in private and agreed on what to say so it would look like Jaime was taking the initiative in this.

'With your experience against rifles what do you think we should do?' Tyrion asked before Tywin could.

'We can't use lines of heavy infantry in attacking them, we can't even use cavalry charges unless we want to lose thousands of men. The only way we can hope to fight them is if we change our way of making war. Our shields and armour are useless against bullets so why should we bother using them? I say we select five thousand of our men and train them to fight only with gambesons and small shields. Their job will be to lead the attack, to remain in a loose formation and run as soon as they get in range of the enemies rifles. The rest of the infantry will follow them. As the light soldiers keep the riflemen in a hand to hand fight they won't be able to fire and we have the advantage again.'

'Until we find a way of getting our own rifles it will have to do,' said Tyrion. 'It won't hurt to find more allies. Are the lords of the Crownlands loyal to us?'

'We don't know,' Marbrand told him.

'Then find out!' Tyrion told him.

'How? Northern raiders are attacking every scout I send out.'

'It doesn't matter now,' Tywin silenced the argument. 'We will face whatever Ned Stark sends against. We will crush his army and then we will make our next move. When we scatter his army we will march home and rebuild our force, we will take his armies rifles and turn them against him and the Farosi.'

 **AN: Chapter Two is here. Farsos takes Oldtown, the Lannister's are pinned at Harrenhal and Ned Stark gathers his armies in the Riverlands. Who will move next?**

 **Please review, let me know what you think.**

 **Review Responses:**

 **Puffgirl1952 the 2** **nd** **: I'm glad you liked the first chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well.**

 **Guest: Yep, it's here at last.**


	3. Chapter 3

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

Chapter Three

A Sense of Continuity

'I am only doing this to maintain a sense of continuity,' Radwen explained to Jon as they walked through the Red Keep a few hours before lunch.

As usual since siezing power a full platoon of the Royal Guard was always close by to Radwen but they let Jon walk with her. They had officially announced their engagement the day after Radwen took the royal family hostage and took control of the capital. Ghost walked with them, since Nymeria had been killed he seemed to walk with less vigour, his posture slightly slumped but he was always loyal to Jon.

'Continuity?' he asked her. 'I thought the whole point of taking power was to change Westeros for the better.'

'That is the plan. It's just if we abolish the practice of petitioning the king, or at the moment the Princess, overnight then it will just make my new subjects resent me and drive them into the arms of the Lannisters of King Renly.'

'I'm more worried about Renly than the Lannisters. Isn't Tywin pinned at Harenhall?'

'I think so. He won't attack us until he's defeated your father.'

 _My uncle,_ he thought to himself and tried to hide his frustration at this mess he'd let himself get into. His father had asked him to play the part of a spy, which at the moment he was failiing at, his uniform marked him as a foreigner, as something not a part of Westeros.

'I'm sorry Jon,' Radwen said and stopped walking. 'I know it's not easy for you, fighting against your father.'

'Thank you Radwen.'

'Leave us for a moment,' Radwen orderd her guards, the tall, broad shouldered men in dark purple uniforms and black plate armour, who at once moved out of earshot, leaving Jon and Radwen in the corridor.

'Since we took control of this city what's been wrong with you?'

'Nothing's worng. It's just, we're in a war. I don't know what's going to happen to us.'

'It's not that. If it's private I won't go further but just, but just promise me it won't hurt us.'

'I don't know. Yes it's private but, I just don't know.'

'Alright. Is this about Sam?'

 _Sam,_ he thought. The official story was that he went missing after going drinking somewhere in the city. For the first few days there were jokes in the officers mess about how much pain his hips would be in when he wakes up from whichever brothel he fell into but now, after a couple of weeks, he was officially listed as a missing person.

'No, I just wish we could find out what happened to him.'

'So do I. He was a good engineer. Now, if there's anything else, we'd best get to the throne room.'

'Of course.'

'Guards,' Radwen loudly said and they were once again under the protection of the guards who escorted them to the throne room.

Already it was busy, numerous lords and ladies who had been in the city were there waiting to make their petitions, as well as common folk. Roughly five hundred men, a full battalion, from one of the regiments of foot, stood around the chamber as guards. Jon and Radwen entered through the main doors, arms linked, Jon leading her slightly until they reached the steps of the Iron Throne. The two of them looked at the ornate wooden chairs on either side of the throne, the one on the right occupied by Colonel Donnah, the commander of the Military Police in Westeros, after the fall of Oldtown he revealed that he had agents across the continent, several of whom opened the gates when the Farosi attacked the city. The one on the left was occupied by Brigadier Curn, the commander of the Farosi garrison within Kings Landing. Jon, again, looked up at the throne, since cutting her hand on it when she first mounted the Iron Throne, Radwen had ordered a dark purple blacket of wool to be thrown across the seat itself with several cushions. Radwen slowly and regally made her way up the steps, reaching the seat before turning and sitting down, gazing at all those gathered there. Jon bowed to Radwen before walking to the side of the hall, standing amongst the onlookers.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' Radwen loudly spoke to those gathered there, 'I welcome you all to the first petitioning I have ever sat in witness of. The armies of Farsos do not come as conquerors, but as liberators, protecting all the poeple of this realm from tyranny. We respect the traditions of all our people which is why I will perform this ancient duty of the Westerosi monarchs. Please, let the first petitioners step forward.'

For the next two hours Jon watched as various noblemen stepped forward to ask for requests such as judgement in legal matters, for that Radwen often asked Colonel Donnah of his opinion. In matters of Farosi troops patroling the city and the planned defences against Lannister attacks or attacks from Renly she consulted with Curn. A very large lord eventually stepped forward holding a small booklet of brown paper, one of the ration books, he guessed.

'Your Highness,' he said and bowed deeply to her. 'I am Ser Carl Brinner, of Toddman Hall. I have come here to ask for changes to be made to the ration allowance.'

'And what changes do you desire?' she asked him.

'It is absurd,' he declared and pointed at the pages. 'I am allowed a small amount of bread and corned beef each day, it is madness. Why should I be forced to eat the same as a day labourer when I am of noble blood?'

'Do you have a family?' Radwen asked him.

'I have two sons and a daughter,' he answered her. 'Right now they are in our home begging me to put on a feast but all I can get them are these pathetic rations.'

'The rations have been organised to last as long as possible. Our supplies of fresh food from the Reach has been cut off, if we did not introduce these rations we would be starving in a month and your children would be begging for the rations we can provide now. No, there will be no change to the rations and anyone caught using the black market will be placed under arrest.'

Lord Brinner just glared at the princess before, angrily, storming out. Colonel Donnah shot a look at Radwen but she shook her head. After them came three women, the one at the head of the group was a redheaded woman who Jon thought was attractive although she appeared to have had a few sleepless nights lately, bags just forming under her eyes and her hair astray in a few areas.

'Your Highness,' the redhead said to her, 'I have come here because we are all in trouble.'

'Well, if you tell me what it is I will try to help. Oh, are you from the North?'

'Yes I am.'

'I thought so. The accent made it obvious.'

'Thank you. My name is Ros, we are, the three of us, are the girls who work at Lord Baelish's establishments.'

'By establishments I assume you mean brothels,' Radwen responded in as dignified way as possible.

'That's right Your Highness. With Lord Baelish in the dungeons we want to know what's happening to his business. Before he was locked up he made me his assistant so I have been running things, but we want to know when he'll be released.'

'Colonel,' Radwen said and Donnah stood up, adjusting his black frock coat.

'Lord Baelish is under investigation for the crimes of corruption and conspiracy. While the investigation continues he will remain in custody.'

'That's all well and good Lord Donnah but we have to keep working. He's my boss and I need him back running things. I'm his assistant but I can't do everything he used to do, he owns the business.'

'I see. Well, I cannot say I approve of the business,' Radwen stated and many of the noblemen in there nodded in a very exaggerated, almost comical, way, 'however, I understand that you have to make money. We'll have papers drawn up handing full control of Lord Baelish's business to you until he is released. If found guilty it is likely that his business will be confiscated, at which time I will allow you to buy his business. Is that satisfactory?'

'Very much Your Highness,' she responded, smiling at what had been offered.

'I'll have a lawyer draw up the documents and take them to you tomorrow. Which of his establishments can he find you at?'

'The one where the shootout happened between Lord Stark and the Kingslayer happened.'

'Oh that one. Thank you.'

Ros and the other girls turned to leave. They turned out to be the last of the petitioners so Radwen rose from the throne and all present bowed before she began to leave, Jon and Ghost going with her. When they were out of the throne room and on the way to Radwen's chambers, which had previously been Prince Joffrey's private rooms, Radwen shook her head in annoyance.

'How these people got anything done I have no idea,' Radwen complained.

'It's worked well for centuries.'

'How much work could Jon Arryn have done in the time he spent on the Iron Throne listening to petty disputes? When we have a real court system set up everything will run much smoother.'

'I do agree. Still, it helps keep a sense of continuity.'

Radwen gave him a warm but slightly sharp look at that comment as they finally reached Radwen's chambers. They had been cleared of Joffrey's belongings, the royal family was being kept under house arrest, ironically at what had been the Farosi Embassy. Now that the Farosi were in charge all of the work once done there was now done in the Red Keep. The royal family was under constant watch but as long as they stayed in the embassy they were allowed to do what they wanted. Radwen's new rooms were very luxurious, although still slightly rough and ready.

Jon and Radwen sat at the dinner table, Ghost sitting himself under the table close to Jon, as the servants brought in lunch, that days rations allowed them some small corned beef pies with roasted potatoes and a thin gravy.

'It's strange,' said Radwen as she cut into one of her pies, 'there isn't a single Green or Red soldier within miles of here but we're already under siege.'

'Can the navy bring in supplies?'

'Not at the moment, to maintain surprise we could only have a small fleet at the Arbor. If I remember right our current rations will last us for three months.'

'How long until the reinforcements arrive then?'

'Maybe two. As soon as they get here they'll begin shipping in supplies.'

'Good. The last thing we need is a city in revolt.'

'Speaking of which, Colonel Donnah tracked down Janos Slynt.'

'Where was he hiding?'

'We found him trying to sneak out of the city dressed as a woman. He's in the dungeon right now.'

'Good. When we took the Gold Cloaks prisoner half of the officers offered to give evidence against him.'

'I imagine that prosecution won't take long.'

'No it wouldn't. We'll still have to keep most of the Gold Cloak officers locked up.'

'And how does the training of the new men go?'

'The old Gold Cloaks all agreed to join the Kings Landing Constabulary.'

They were to take over the duties of the Gold Cloaks, wearing used Farosi uniforms, bowler hats and ankle boots. However, considering the threat of attack from Renly and the Lannisters they would be a conscript force.

'How good soldiers are they?'

'I think they're at their best when they can stop a tavern brawl.'

'At least each of them will have a rifle,' was what Radwen said after a few moments.

'We'll still be outnumbered badly if we're attacked. We have six hundred Light Horsemen, four thousand regular infantry, your Royal Guard, two cannons and three thousand of the Constables.'

'Brigadier Curn is working on a plan. Have faith in the man.'

'I don't know much about him to have faith.'

'During the war, well, the last real war, when he was just a Lieutenant he took command of his battalion when the other officers were all killed or wounded and led a bayonet charge which threw back the Gwaitholi Forces attempting to outflank General Hamhill.'

'That was him?'

'Indeed. He's very humble about it all.'

'I hate men who brag about achievements.'

'I do unless they have good reason to brag. I remember, when Miccal, my brother, when he came back from his first mission as captain of his own ship he was boating for days over how they captured a smuggler ship.'

'I'm guessing that made him popular.'

'My mother threatened to stuff his mouth with cotton.'

Jon chuckled at the image. It must have been just before Miccal renounced his claim to the throne. The Farosi Royal Navy had always been the lesser branch of the armed forces, ironic for a people who worshipped a sea goddess. It hurt them in the long term, when Farsos declared war on Gwaithol, a nation of three great islands and many smaller ones which had a larger fleet with stronger ships. The Farosi fleet was destroyed in a matter of weeks, for the rest of the war reinforcements and supplies had to be sneaked in, maybe a quarter of all the men Farsos lost in that war was from starvation thanks to the efforts of the Gwaitholi navy.

'Do you ever wish that Miccal hadn't decided to remain in the navy?'

'Sometimes,' she admitted. 'Still, what's done is done.'

They ate the rest of their meal in relative quiet, Jon didn't want to speak much any way, he was of course worried that any wrong word would let his secrets known. He just didn't know what Radwen would do if she learned that she was betrothed to the last son of House Targaryen. That was when he remembered that Small Council meeting not too long ago, but it may as well have happened in a different life time considering how different things were. They had finished eating by then and Jon knew Radwen would soon start her afternoon work, corresponding with the Iron Bank, arranging rations and the like.

'Is there any news of the Targaryen girl in Essos?'

'Colonel Donnah's not sure. He's managed to gain control of many of the Spider's agents but so far only rumors. We know her husband is dead but no word on the girl herself. Some say a witch stole her baby from her womb, others that she gave birth to a dragon, we're not sure yet.'

'Let's hope the last one isn't true,' Jon commented.

'Dragons? You really worry over a matter as silly as that?'

'No.'

'Good. I'm more worried of Lions, Stags and Roses than I am of Dragons.'

'Since your family are the descendants of House Casterly do you know the truth, I mean, the truth of what happened with Lan the Clever?'

'Of course I do. For thousands of years every child of House Cassius on their fifteenth birthday has been told the story, taken from the writings of King Harrel Cassius, son of Cassius Sea Walker.'

'Then what was it?'

'Cassius was a bastard son, one of a few, of Lord Henman Casterly, the last Casterly to rule the rock his family had owned for thousands of years. Back in those days from every tower of the castle flew a golden banner bearing a black gryphon. Lord Henman had four bastard sons and two true born daughters. One day a young man, a warrior with golden hair arrived, and sought service in Lord Henman's army. One night, after befriending the commanders of the army, the warrior crept into Casterly Rock and forced himself upon Henman's eldest daughter. She fell pregnant and, believing that his daughter had welcomed the warrior into her bed, Henman forced the girl to marry the warrior. Years later Henman died and the warrior, named Lan, proclaimed House Casterly to be done and House Lannister was born. He then killed Casterly's other daughter but the bastard sons escaped. Cassius Hill, the youngest of the bastards, knew that he and the small number of Casterly cousins could not defeat Lord Lan and his army so, as the bravest son of Lord Casterly, the others agreed to go into exile with him. They bought ships and supplies and with one last look behind them, they set sail into the Sunset Sea. We all know what happened after that.'

'He found Farsos.'

'He founded the greatest kingdom in history. Valyria was driven by dragons, Westeros by knights, Farsos is driven by steam and gunpowder.'

'And a few bayonets,' Jon added, 'with some guts behind them.'

'I suppose so. Do you know what time it is?'

'No, my watch stopped working. Again.'

'Perfect,' was what Radwen said and stood up, walking towards a mahogany wooden box on a table by the wall.

'What is it?' he asked her as she carried the small box to Jon.

'A present, to celebrate our engagement.'

Jon opened the box and saw within a new pocket watch on a golden chain, the case of the watch was gold and on the front was a silver wolf with the smallest of rubies in the eyes.

'It's beautiful,' he said to her, taking the watch and checking the time. 'It's half past one.'

'I'm glad you like it. I wish we could spend more time together but, well, I have work to do.'

'Me too. Tomorrow then?'

'Yes.'

Jon kissed her, not pushing too deeply, and then left, heading down to the barracks to help train the new Constables. He knew they would need them soon.

 **AN: The Farosi maintain control of the capital as they wait for more soldiers to arrive from their homeland. Jon is torn between his loyalty to  
his family and the King he has sworn loyalty to.**

 **Review Responses:**

 **Puffgirl** **1952 the 2nd: So the Farosi are now receiving word of what Dany has been doing, although it is just hearsay for now. I will say this here  
now though, this story will mostly focus on events in Westeros for the immediate future.  
**

 **Stannis the Mann: Thanks for the review, I'm glad you enjoyed.**

 **So, another chapter in and I hope you all enjoyed this one. Please review, I love reading feedback. Have a great day.**


	4. Chapter 4

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

Chapter Four

A New Strategy

The army of King Renly, which had been assembled south of Highgarden, was truly massive. The largest gathering of men which Sam Tarly had ever seen before was in Farsos during the Feast of the True Queen, that being the Farosi New Year celebration, where a massive military parade, made up of all branches of the armed forces, the infantry, the cavalry, both light and heavy, the artillery and the navy, the Royal Engineers, the Army Medical Service and the Commisariat, all marched through the streets of First Sight, finally stopping at Her Majesties Square below Senate Hall Hill. On the day which Sam hed been able to attend amongst the crowds he saw an entire Corps perform it, that numbered just under foteen thousand. Now he was amongst an army of almost eighty thousand, everywhere he looked he saw young levies practicing with their weapons, sell swords trading stories about their victories and conquests on and off the battefield, knights who proudly walked about reminding all of their victories in tourney's and older knights who shook their heads in frustration at the younger men.

Sam, well, it was obvious that he was a lord. He wore fine clothes and a cloak held in place with a clasp in the shape of his houses huntsman. The only elements of Farosi left on him was his revolver, for which he had sixty rounds of ammunition, his Farosi sword which, while he was nowhere near as good as Jon at, he could use if he had to, and his boots. The Farosi boots were certainly good. His uniform he had shut away in a chest in case he would ever have need of it. At that time he was heading towards King Renly's command tent where he would deliver his advice to the council in command of Renly's army. He was not looking forward to that, his father had just arrived back that morning. Apparently the man had engaged a Farosi force north of Oldtown at a village called Upton where he had been forced to retreat. That was a surprise, he had only ever been defeated once although in this fight he had only a small force of about four thousand. The point was that his father would be at the meeting and Sam would have to give advice to him.

He entered the large tent and saw the many lords of the Reach and Stormlands looking over a large map of Westeros with wooden blocks on it marked with small banners representing all of the armies. He soon heard what was being discussed.

'Lord Hightower was forced to surrender the city and his home, he is now under house arrest,' said one lord. 'Since then the Farosi ships have launched attacks against the castles along the south western coast, Three Towers and Blackcrown have both been reduced to rubble.'

'We must lure them out into open battle,' said Mace Tyrell. 'Our cavalry force alone outnumbers their whole Corps.'

'Do not under estimate the Farosi like I did.'

His fathers voice was filled with anger. Sam finally got a look at him and saw a man who was still reeling from what had happened.

'Lord Tarly, you are speaking to your Liege Lord.'

'I am telling you what I know.'

'Let Lord Tarly speak. His recent experience could prove to be valuable,' it was King Renly who said that.

'My thanks Your Grace. I led a force to Upton to attack any Farosi scouts or foraging parties. We found a company of Farosi infantry at Upton, by th elook of it they were not expecting us and they were making camp. We moved to attack and at once the Farosi withdrew into Upton itself. Upton didn't have a wall, it only had a small holdfast but because of the buildings I could not order a cavalry charge so I sent in my infantry. We took many casualties in the attack, their bullets tore straight through shield and armour as if they were not there, but when we came into hand to hand combat we threw the Farosi back into the holdfast. I was preparing to attack it when we were attacked. The Farosi had two cannons, I saw them after they began to fire, but they were on a hill almost two miles away from us. The cannons released weapons which exploded in the air above my men, they were torn to shreds by them and most of my infantry were routed. After that Farosi cavalry charged my remaining men from the woods close by and I had to order a retreat. Numbers do not matter when we are fighting the Farosi.'

'He is right,' said Sam, stepping towards the table. 'I apologise for being late Your Grace.'

'You are forgiven,' was his response.

When they fled from the capital, Sam going with Lord Stark, they soon caught up with Renly and when he had been told what happened, with the Farosi backstabbing them, he was furious. They had never spoken, other than Sam being told that his experience in the Farosi army would make him useful.

'Thank you, Your Grace. The Farosi army is trained to fight armies larger than their own thanks to Gwaithol.'

'Gwaithol has a large army?' asked Loras Tyrell.

'Yes they do. I heard that there it is common for a mother to have twins or triplets more than once in their lives, so in the last war the Farosi were often overwhelmed by massive collumns of Gwaitholi troops. The new army has been trained to fight against them.'

'How so?' was Mace Tyrell's question.

.'The Farosi usually deploy in lines only two or three men deep but it means that a single regiment, that's a thousand men, can bring all their rifles to bear on the enemy. A single Farosi infantryman can use his rifle to accurately wound or kill an enemy up to eight hundred yards away from them and a well trained man can reload his rifle three times a minute. Every minute that one regiment will fire three thousand times. Right now the Farosi have up to ten of those regiments in Oldtown.'

'Their line is still so thin that we can break them easily,' Lord Caswell declared to them. 'With just three ranks thick a strong cavalry charge will break them.'

'The cavalry will not be able to reach them,' Sam told the man with as much strength as he could muster. 'All of our knights will be shredded by the time they reach fifteen yards of the Farosi line.'

'I believe my son is right,' Sam looked with surprise at his father. 'We cannot face them in open battle but if we lure them into the Reach we can ambush them.'

'Can it be done?' asked Renly.

'It won't be easy,' was Sam's response. 'With an army as large as ours the Farosi could easily spot us.'

'Then we form a small force,' said Renly. 'If we can draw a part of the enemies army out and destroy it we can then attack Oltown itself, the city walls are so large they will never be able to defend it all.'

'And this small force?' asked Mace.

'I will lead it. I need five thousand infantry, a thousand cavalry and Samwell Tarly.'

'Me Your Grace?'

'You know how the Farosi fight. I'll need your advice.'

'Then you'll have it Your Grace. I'm no fighter, but whatever I can offer you I will.'

'And I'm glad to have it. Now, what news of the Lannisters?'

'Tywin Lannister is stuck at Harrenhal,' one lord told Renly. 'Lord Stark is gathering more troops across the Riverland's. He is mustering them at Stone Hedge, with any luck he will strike against Lannister soon.'

'Good. With the Lannister's crushed we can take Kings Landing and throw everything against the Farosi. The Lords of the Narrow Sea have declared for us as well and they're preparing to set sail to join us.'

'So we can recover from our defeat at Arbor,' Renly said with a dark look.

Sam understood why as well. It seemed so obvious now, in one fell swoop the Farosi army in the Arbor for "training missions" had occupied the entire island and destroyed the Redwyne Fleet. Their follow up naval raids across the coastline of the Reach had destroyed the largest part of Renly's available naval force.

'The Storm Lords fleet has also assembled at Storms End,' Loras told him and pointed to the relevant castle. 'With so many ships filling the sea and our armies cutting the city off there is nothing that can get food to them.

Sam listened but he was not needed for now, so he stood back and let the others discuss the Lannisters which was largely focused on the idea of letting Lord Stark handle them. After that the meeting was ended and Sam was about to leave when his father stopped him and insisted on speaking with Sam in private. They went to Lord Tarly's tent, on the inside it was decorated very simple, his armour stood on a rack in the corner and a table was in the middle of the room, a bed was at the edge of the tent.

Sam and his father sat down at the table, Sam's father spoke first.

'When I sent you away to Farsos I did it to make you a man. I did it to make you a fighter. I then learned that you joined their armies engineers and I wanted to drag you back here.'

'The engineers are a vital part of the army,' Sam told him, tired of the jokes engineers recieved from the fighting men.

'But they do not lead the charge or win glory for their family name.'

'But they build bridges so an army can cross an impassible river, they build the defences around camps so they cannot be attacked in the night and they can turn an ordinary hill into a fortress in less than a day.'

'You've never understood what it takes to lead my house.'

'Our house.'

'Still, leaving their army gives you one last chance. If you help us defeat the foreign army then you will have Horn Hill when I die. Do not fail me. Get out.'

Sam stood up and left at once, he couldn't be bothered dealing with his fathers latest tantrum. He had more important things to do, he was going to war now.

 **AN: Sam enters the world of warfare, Renly gathers his armies and plans are made to strike against the Farosi army. What will happen next? Read to find out.**

 **I would like to say sorry for the fairly short chapters but they will get longer as the story goes on.**

 **Review Response:**

 **Puffgirl 1952 the 2nd: Oh I will keep writing.**


	5. Chapter 5

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: And so the next chapter in this war begins. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think of it.**

Chapter Five

Under Occupation

Private Hassan Corrin wondered if it had all been worth it. He was unmarried, unlike many of his brothers in arms, but his mother and sisters still relied on him, the money he made in the army, to get by. It was a risk, giving up his chances as an apprentice cobbler to join the army, and it was paying off so far. He had spent the first two years in the army stationed along the southern coast in the forts built to stop an invasion from Gwaithol. Hassan was as non descript as they came in the Farosi army, he had grown a moustache, under Farosi military law if you could grow facial hair you had to, preferably a moustache although since they came into contact with Westeros beards were becoming more common. He was just one more soldier in the blue uniform, he had overheard some of the locals calling them blue coats.

When he had learned that they were going to Westeros for "Amphibious Warfare Training" he, like everyone else, had been excited, thinking it meant they would soon be taking back the island colonies lost in the war. Then, one night, after a year of practicing every way of landing on a beach imaginable, the company had been sitting around a campfire when they learned the truth. Captain Tanlel, the company's leader, approached them with Sergeant Dommel.

'Gentlemen, I have good news. I have just attended a briefing with General Morsey. King Robert Baratheon is dead.'

No one said anything at that, no one was sure why that would be good news.

'I know that sounds strange to call good news but I'm being honest here. In an effort to preserve life and protect the common good His Majesty and the Senate have agreed to occupy Westeros and end the current succession struggle. That means we are invading Westeros.'

As soon as they realised that they cheered, Hasan cheered, soldiers in combat received more pay than those serving in peace. On top of that if he could do something to earn himself a name it could set up his family for life.

'The rest of the corps will secure the islands castles, we will escort the artillery up to some hills overlooking the harbor. We move out in one hour, get your equipment ready.'

The next morning he watched on as the Redwyne feet was sunk, one of the largest fleets in Westeros burning and sinking from the combined firepower of the Farosi artillery and navy. Nearly all of the castles were taken that day in surprise attacks, the few which didn't surrendered after a few artillery shells fell on their keeps. However, their position kept them out of direct combat, that changed as soon as the real invasion began. Two of the regiments were left behind on the Arbor to keep it as a retreat base or something, Hassan didn't know, it was none of his business. Hassan's regiment, the 87th Regiments of Foot, was told that they would be in the first wave which would attack the enemy city, although no one told them which city. Everyone had their own idea, some said Lannisport, others Kings Landing, which Hassan agreed with, but soon, through the mist, from the decks of the slow moving transport ships, they saw a flame burning in the sky. It was the top of a lighthouse and then they knew they would storm Oldtown. The cities defenders were out in force, thousands of city watchmen deployed on the beach before the transports. Hassan and all the others climbed into the landing boats and then rowed for the shore. Arrows peppered them, killing a few men but their new leather jerkings were just enough to stop most of them from being lethal. Cannons from the warships kept the enemy pinned down behind the dunes on the beach silencing the archers. They landed and quickly formed into two ranks, thousands of men along the beach doing this as the cannons stopped firing, at this range there was too much risk of friendly fire. The Westerosi, seeing they were free to attack, charged over the top of the dunes only to face a wall of volley fire. That was the day Hassan killed for the first time. He aimed at an old man in the uniform of the local city watch and pulled the trigger killing the man. He was just one part of the machine of war, firing, reloading, aiming, firing, reloading, aiming firing again and again. By the time the Westerosi broke and fled there was a pile of enemy corpses on the slope of the sand dune which Hassan had to climb over to continue the pursuit while the cavlary were off loaded from the ships. A small force of Light Horsemen were able to cut off many of the retreating defenders from the gates. That night the gates were opened and the 87th was one of the regiments tasked with taking the city. After marching in the city gave up, no one tried to defend it after seeing what the Farosi army could do.

Now, weeks after that, they were still in Oldtown and Hassan was on guard duty inside the headquarters for General Morsey, the leader of the 8th Corps. He had made his base at a luxurious inn overlooking the river, although Hassan couldn't see the river from where he stood inside the war room, formerly the main drinking hall, where a large table stood in the middle of the room covered with a map of Westeros and the Sunset Sea, including the Mid Point Isles, a small cluster of islands used as a naval base. All of the colonels stood around the table and at the head was General Morsey himself, a tall broad shouldered man with a patch over his right eye, a wide moustache over the top of his lip and his chest decorated with many medals. Members of Hassan's platoon stood around the room as guards. The doors suddenly opened and three men entered the room, two of them Royal Marines, the third, the man at the head, wore a sky blue uniform with an admirals insignia on his shouler. The Lord Admiral, he realised.

'I'm sorry for being late,' he said as he approached the table.

'It's no problem at all,' said Morsey. 'We're only waging a war.'

This garnered a few chuckled from the colonels and Hassan noticed Admiral Greenman roll his eyes.

'Anyway, our raids along the coast have gone well. What remained of the Reaches navy has either fled or been destroyed.'

'Excellent. Now, you'll be glad to know admiral that our reinforcements are expected to begin arriving soon.'

'How large a force can we expect?'

'We will recieve the support of the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Corps, the Twenty Second and Twenty Third Infantry, the Thirty Third and Thirty Fourth Light Horse and the Forty First, Forty Second, Forty Third and Forty Fourth Heavy Horse. We can also expect a Corps of the Reserve army.'

'To quote my nanny,' said Greenman, 'I am the worst math's student in history. What's that in numbers?'

'Seventy five thousand men,' Colonel Slopehill answered. 'Give or take a couple hundred.'

'And with them we will overwhelm the Westerosi with firepower. Now,' Morsey pointed to Upton on the map, 'Colonel Frons led an action here which was able to beat back the Westerosi although it cannot be called a victory. All our troops are within a mile of this city now while the armies of Renly Baratheon are near Highgarden. I believe that if we keep ourselves here it will demoralise the men so I will authorise a raiding campaign against the locals.'

'Are you asking us to become plunderers?' asked Colonel Doomlin, the commander of the 87th.

'No. The mission will be to confiscate illegal materials such as excessive amounts of weaponry. Afterall, if this land is to be governed like Farsos they do not need to have so many weapons.'

Again there were some chuckles at that.

'We will also begin recruiting local reserve troops, I think they should appreciate the payment. Our friends in the Military Police have supplies of obsolete rifles to arm them with. Colonel Sommen, the local MP commander, claims that he can raise four thousand of them.'

'Is it wise to arm the enemy?' asked Greenman. 'Look how well that went with the Starks.'

'These men will be under our command. Now, if anyone has anything else to add, now is the time.'

When no one took up the offer the officers all left and Hassan's commander, Lieutenant Thorn cleared his throat.

'Alright men, you may consider your guard duties today over. I suggest you go and enjoy yourselves.'

'Thank you, sir,' Sergeant Dommel responded.

'Dismissed.'

With those words Hassan and his fellow soldiers saluted their officer and then began walking towards the doors. Goonil, a fellow private who he had done his training with, soon joined him as they stepped into the cobble stoned streets of Oldtown.

'There were worse places to be posted,' Goonil told him.

'True that. You know what I think. This is probably the best posting in Westeros.'

'Don't want to go to King's Landing?'

'Nah. I heard the place is a giant sewer.'

'Might be but apparently there are some very good brothels there.'

'You go to half of them and you'll be walking bow legged for the rest of your life.'

'Might be worth it. Come on, let's get to the pub.'

Since they occupied the city the streets had returned to, what Hassan guessed, was normal for the city. The locals could be seen on the streets again, local men and women going about their business. However, there were Farosi soldiers everywhere, the ones on duty standing on street corners with their rifles, and fixed bayonets, in hand. The ones off duty, like Hassan and Goonil, had their rifles slung over their shoulders. At first they had orders to not go about armed with they weren't on guard duty but after a Farosi private had been found murdered by a local the order had been reversed to make sure it wouldn't happen again. It made Hassan feel more secure anyway.

The two of them entered a pub called "The Butcher's End", which had become a favorite amongst the Farosi soldiers. On the outside it was a three story building with whitewashed walls and large windows. Inside it was well lit by candles and the light from the outside, most of the tables occupied by Farosi soldiers in blue sitting around, gambling and drinking. The two of them approached the bar, each of them getting a beer and then they sat down at a table which many other soldiers were sitting at.

'Which regiment are you boys from?' asked one of them, that was when Hassan noticed that at least half of the Farosi troops at that table weren't wearing their wide brimmed hats but rather black berets.

'The 87th,' Goonil told him.

'81st,' the man in the beret responded.

'From Clor?' Hassan asked the man.

'That's us lad.'

The Isle of Clor was a large island just north east of Farsos itself, although it had been a part of the kingdom for six hundred years. Still, in all that time they had maintained a very strong sense of local identity and, as a special privilege, the soldiers from Clor had their traditional beret.

'I always liked you lot. I'm from the Mountain's Foot, Hassan as well.'

'Where about?' asked another of the Clor men.

'First Sight,' Hassan answered.

'Right from the capital,' the original man answered. 'Horkon by the way.'

'Hassan.'

'What do you make of the locals?'

'Westerosi? Not bad really.'

'Not the smartest bunch are they? Being ruled by these pompous bastards that's no surprise though.'

'I guess not,' said Goonil. 'Still, this time next year good old King Lukon will be in charge.'

'To King Lukon!' one soldier who was not from Clor said loudly and raised his tankard.

'KING LUKON!' everyone else at the table declared, raised their tankards, and then drank heavily.

Hassan heard the door open again and he turned to see who it was, five men, all in the black coats of the Military Police. They got their drinks and sat together, away from everyone else.

'I hate having the MP's about all the time,' Goonil muttered quietly.

'Here, here,' Horkon agreed. 'You never know what the buggers are thinking.'

'You're right,' said Hassan. 'They're tough bastards though.'

Suddenly a bell began to clang loudly and the door at the top of the stairs opened, a young woman wearing little more than a shift emerged and she took in a deep breath before shouting.

'Alright lads! Brothels open!'

With that about half of the soldiers got up from their chairs and began to walk quickly to the stairs.

'Duty calls gents,' Horkin told them, picked up his rifle and grinned. 'Good talking to you two.'

Hassan watched as most of the other Farosi troops moved towards the upstairs brothel, Hassan himself felt too embarrassed to do likewise. Instead he just downed his beer and left, heading back to the barracks as evening came on fast, his thoughts filled with the hope that he could see combat and make a name for himself.

 **AN: The Farosi have a plan, their reinforcements are coming closer day by day and we have a new perspective on the war. My first draft of this chapter was written from the perspective of Admiral Greenman but then I realised that the story needs to have a view on the front lines from the Farosi perspective other than Jon.**

 **Let me know what you think of this chapter, please review because I love reading feedback. Have a great day everyone.**


	6. Chapter 6

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

Chapter Six

No shortage of food

'Hurry up!' Jon ordered his men as they raced into the stables and mounted their horses.

When Jon climbed onto his own he led them into the courtyard at a quick trot where they joined the rest of their regiment of Light Horse, their colonel shouting orders while infantry already raced along the courtyard towards the gates, their leaders commanding them forwards with drawn swords.

'Jon!'

He looked across the courtyard to see Radwen, escorted by her usual guard's, moving at a dignified but quick pace. Jon, for his part, rode towards her and they stopped, him looking down to her, her looking up at him.

'Stay safe out there.'

'Don't worry about me. Just stay here and keep your guards with you.'

'It's not like I have much other choice. Colonel Donnah would rather have me locked in my room.'

'We just need to disperse the crowds. You'll be safe here.'

'I know. Can you just promise me you'll keep yourself safe?'

'Snow!' Captain Lowhill shouted. 'We're going now!'

'I promise,' he told Radwen and then quickly rode back towards his men, the whole regiment of horse, six hundred men on their horses, armed to the teeth, waiting to hear their colonels orders.

Colonel Relini, the commander of the 21st Regiment of Light Horse, was an agile man of forty five with a wide, wire like moustache.

'Rioters have been seen all over the city,' he told them. 'The largest crowd, around five hundred, attacked the ration warehouses this morning but the constables were able to hold them off. Right now the rioters are rampaging through the city, looting houses and destroying Farosi businesses. Our mission is to persuade them to return home. Your captains have their orders. Good luck,' he drew his revolver and held it in the air. 'Crown! Senate! People!'

'Crown!' Jon, and every other soldier repeated. 'Senate! People!'

And with that they galloped through the gates of the Red Keep and into Kings Landing, a city in chaos. Jon could see smoke rising from several fires, the air was filled with the distant sounds of gunfire and a constant hum from hundreds of instances of violence.

'With me!' Lowhill ordered his company and Jon followed close behind and they galloped towards the old embassy.

After going through several streets, Jon and Lowhill at the head of the company, Jon had to ask his superior something important.

'Sir, we're not going to kill these people?'

'Only if we have to,' he answered. 'Use the flat of your sword to strike them.'

'Thank you sir.'

Jon had Stark blood in him, his house had always cared for those under their rule more than many other lords of Westeros.

This whole situation could only be described as madness. Late in the previous day a group of locals had been going around the city proclaiming that the Farosi had been hoarding all of the food and that the Princess and the council had been ignoring the ration limits. The next morning a crowd emerged practically out of nowhere at the warehouses storing the rations and they tried to storm it. The strange thing was that there wasn't a food shortage. Everyone had been given liveable rations and Princess Radwen had been extremely insistent on everyone following the rules of rationing, making dealing with black market goods punishable by public flogging.

'It just takes a couple of bloody annoying gits to ruin everything,' Corporal Donley had remarked about it.

'You're certainly right Corporal.'

Now though, they rode into a wide street where about twenty ren were throwing bricks and rocks at a shop.

'Charge!' Lowhill bellowed and Jon followed, pointing his sword forwards, all of the others around him doing the same as they thundered towards the rioters who had already began to flee.

Jon brought down his sword onto one of the rioting men, the flat of the blade beating into the man's skull, knocking him to the ground. In a matter of seconds the street was clear and Jon saw Lowhill nod a few times.

'Come on!' he ordered and they continued their ride through the city, seeking out rioters and charging them, forcing those who would disturb the peace to return home.

After doing this a third time they all stopped at the sound of gunfire breaking out close by.

'To the shooting!' Lowhill commanded and they rode at a good pace, but not a gallop, where they saw about fifteen Constables, wearing their older blue coats and bowler hats, clutching shotguns and crouching behind a barricade made from crates and barrels, as well as pieces of furniture.

They would fire over the barricade, each barrel releasing lethal ammunition before they would crouch again to reload. From his position on horseback he looked over the top of the constables to see who they were firing at. About fifty yards away, down the street, he saw another barricade occupied by dozens of men, locals, wearing pieces of armour, armed with a mix of cudgels, spears, shotguns and revolvers.

'Keep back!' Lowhill ordered and dismounted while most of the company moved away on their horses around a corner to be out of the enemies field of fire. 'Snow, you and your troopers with me.'

'You heard him men! Dismount!'

'Squad Five with the horses!' Osoni barked.

Jon drew his revolver, keeping it in his right hand, and raced towards the barricade, keeping low to the ground, his troopers with carbines in hand behind him.

'Whose in charge?' Lowhill asked the constables.

'Me,' answered one of them. 'Ser Horace Ridge.'

'Alright Ridge, what's going on?'

'We,' he answered, clearly annoyed that Lowhill didn't use his title, 'were trying to send this mob home when some of them pulled out weapons. It looks like they raided the store houses we kept the old Gold Cloaks equipment in.'

'Shit.'

'I'd guess that maybe a third of them have firearms. The rest have spears and clubs.'

'One charge and we'll throw them back,' Jon said and looked over the top of the barricade, firing three times before ducking.

'No. The enemy have spears and this street's too narrow to outflank them.'

'Than what are your orders?'

'Tell the men to dismount and mix bayonets.'

'We're going to charge them?'

'That's right.'

'Sergeant,' Jon ordered his second in command.

'I'm on it sir,' he then raced away to the rest of the company. 'Dismount the lot of you and fix bayonets! Time to give these wankers a fucking they'll never forget!'

'Rather rough man, isn't he?' asked Lowhill.

'Yes sir,' Jon agreed.

'I wouldn't have him any other way sir,' Donley added on with a grin.

Very quickly most of the company, except for those who had to keep an eye on the horses, were assembled in ranks, crouching low with their carbines and fixed bayonets in hand.

'Troop One will lay down fire and then the company will charge. Constables will retire.'

'Yes Captain,' Horace reluctantly agreed and then he and his men pulled back.

'Remember men,' Lowhill told them all, 'those bastards are now armed. This is a borderline revolt and all of them are now considered armed enemies of the United Kingdom of Farsos and Westeros. Prepare to attack!'

'Prepare!' Jon ordered his men as they moved into two ranks, still crouching.

'Attack!'

'Attack!'

Jon rose to his feet and ran past the barricade with his men, taking up a position to the right as his men stood in two ranks, Jon could almost feel the bullets flying past him.

'First rank, kneel!' Jon ordered and he watched his men follow his commands, proud of their discipline. 'Take aim! FIRE!'

The first rank of his men let loose a deadly barrage or bullets towards the enemy and through the smoke he saw many of the rioters in their front rank fall dead.

'Second rank, take aim! Fire! First rank, take aim. Fire! Second rank, take aim. Fire!'

Of course he knew the enemy weren't just waiting to be shot at. His men were falling as well. Several of them had fallen to the ground, but because of the range and the enemies weapons they were probably just wounded. He saw Trooper Hensin take a shot to the leg and he dropped his weapon, falling to the ground and growling in pain. Lowhill took position next to Jon and drew his sword before he cleared his throat.

'CHARGE!'

With that there was a battle cry from all the men of the company as they charged. Jon felt his feet moving and he was sprinting forwards, firing his revolver as he went.

Bang, bangm bang, click, click.

It was emptied so he shoved it into his holster and again drew his sword as they crashed into the enemy barricade. Jon barged one man into the ground and then slashed him across the neck. All around him was a whirling chaos of stabbing, punching and screaming and Jon knew he was certainly a part of it. After running another man through with his sword he finally realised that the enemy was retreating.

'What now?' Jon asked Lowhill after getting his breath back.

'We crush this rebellion before it gets out of hand.'

Just after that several other light horsemen thundered down the street, led by a Lieutenant from one of the other companies who he recognised but didn't know.

'Captain Lowhill?' he asked the captain.

'What is it?'

'Captain Chasterman needs you now. The rioters stormed the embassy and they've taken the royal family to the Dragon Pit.'

'Bollocks,' Lowhill sighed, his eyes wide.

'Now is it out of hand?' Jon asked him.

…

And so they did. Late that night, after hard fighting, Jon, in a different uniform which had been cleaned, walked towards Radwen's rooms. After knocking her heard Radwen respond, louder than usual.

'Come in.'

Inside he saw Radwen sitting behind her desk, a dozen scrunched up balls of paper on the desk in front of her, another sheet which had writing on it and one bottle of wine, half drank, another one that was empty and a full to the brim glass.

'Hello Jon,' she said and wiped her eyes.

'Are you alright?'

'Well, over the past day there's been a riot which, erm, grew into a revolt and, ah wonderful, the mob breaks Cersei and her children out of the embassy and takes them to that bloody stupid ruin on top of the hill and proclaim Joffrey King of Westeros. Now,' she took a very long and very fast drink from her glass, 'ah, now I am writing a letter to my father to explain all of this.'

'Are you drunk?' he asked her.

'Erm, yes,' she responded and, for the first time, seemed to notice the empty bottle. 'Oh, Queen damnit, I feel like an idiot. Jon, do you mind sitting down?'

'Of course,' he said and sat in the chair before her desk. 'Well, what are you going to tell the King?'

'I honestly don't know. When I found out that Joffrey had been taken to the Pit I told Curn that he could use the cannons to force them out.'

'It made sense.'

'We lost two hundred men storming the Dragon Pit. That's not the work of rioters.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, after it was all over and Joffrey and the others were recaptured we, the Provisional Council I mean, had a meeting over it and I explained my intentions. I was going to send a letter detailing everything that had happened to the Senatorial Department of Foreign Affairs.'

'Is that the right department?'

'No and that's the point. The letter would have be seen by the Lord Senator of Foreign Affairs who would pass it onto a committee in his department who would agree to send it to the Department of Law Enforcement who would bounce it around another committee. While they're doing this I would also have sent a letter directly to my father explaining to him how we dealt with a minor riot and eliminated an enemy conspiracy without many details saving us all a lot of trouble.'

'Then what's the problem?'

'Colonel Donnah.'

'What's he done?'

'He's already sent a raven to the Arbor and they'll send its letter back to Farsos and then it will land on the desk of the High Inquisitor.'

'Oh fuck.'

High Inquisitor Borsin, otherwise known as the head of His Majesties Military Police, was one of the few people in Farsos who could go and see the king at a moment's notice.

'Exactly. Now I have to explain to my father what's going on, send it in a raven and pray that he reads mine first. The last thing anyone needs is this reaching the papers.'

'What was he doing anyway? Donnah I mean. This isn't a military police matter.'

'It is now, more or less. Was anyone in the corridor outside?'

'Just your guards.'

'Good. Now, what do you know about Colonel Donnah's career?'

'Not much.'

'Most of it is secret anyway. In his first ever mission as a Colonel in the Military Police he was sent into Gwaithol, this was in the war just after our fleet was annihilated. He and fifty others had to undermine the enemy war effort at home by encouraging unrest in the cities, you know, food riots things like that. They were caught by the enemy and put on one of their prison ships for five years before he escaped.'

'What's this got to do with anything?'

'This mission was commanded by Colonel Freman?'

'Freman?' Jon asked, now that was a surprise. He was on the most wanted list of Farsos but his crimes weren't specified.

'That's right. While in prison he defected to Gwaithol, since then we've had no idea where he's been. He planned the effort to undermine the Gwaitholi war effort and todays events, according to Donnah, are an exact match of his methods.'

'Freman's here in Westeros?'

'We believe so. Worse, with this in mind Donnah went through the letters his agents across Westeros have been sending him and the results are, oh goodness, the results are worrying.'

'Am I actually allowed to hear this?'

'Probably not but I don't care right now. The letters from all of his agents in the Iron Islands had slight changes in hand writing, so small that anyone not looking for them wouldn't see them. The changes began two months before this war began.'

'But if Freman's doing this and he's working for Gwaithol,' Jon said now he felt true fear, 'does it mean Gwaithol's going to enter the war?'

'I don't think so. They're not ready to fight us again but if they can fund proxy wars.'

'So Freman's in the Iron Islands and has removed our spies there. Damn. But why the Iron Islands?'

'I don't know but,' she said and finished that glass of wine, 'but we need to keep an eye on them,' she took a forlorn look at the letter and shook her head. 'What's the point? It won't get there before the Inquisitor sees Donnah's letter anyway. I just need to forget about everything for a while.'

'You'll be taking a long holiday when the war's over?'

'Of course. When the war's over we'll be getting married and we can have a long holiday together.'

Jon again felt the guilt tearing at him. He had promised to spy on her, again he had been doing a piss poor job at that, and now, the way Radwen looked at him with some measure of happiness for the first time since he had gone in there, it made him feel sick.

'Yes,' he answered.

'If there's some good news,' she said and walked towards the rooms drinks cabinet, 'it's that King Robert left Westeros with an empty treasury but a full wine cellar. Let's have a few.'

 **AN: Chaos in Kings Landing, conspiracies from Gwaithol and a ghost from Colonel Donnah's past.**

 **So, let me know what you think of this chapter, I love reading feedback and I hope you all enjoyed this one. Please review, have a great day.**


	7. Chapter 7

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: I'm sorry about this being a few days late but this chapter needed a major rewrite before publication and I hope you will enjoy it.**

Chapter Seven

Son of the North

Ned sat on his horse, with him was "Great Jon" Umbar and Blackfish, and together they watched their soldiers carrying out combat drills. The rifles he had bought before the war gave them an advantage over the Lannister's but they were cumbersome in hand to hand combat. Therefore, Ned found that he would have to get creative to fight the next battle in the war. The five hundred riflemen he was watching were also in position with two hundred and fifty pikemen, just behind them, each one carrying a twelve foot long pike.

'Present!' the captain of the unit ordered and his riflemen aimed their weapons at the targets set up about eighty meters away from them. 'Take aim! Fire!'

All of the riflemen fired at the same time, breaking away from the usual command to begin volley fire. Ned grinned slightly when he saw the large targets, made from scarecrows, being torn to shreds by the lethal hailstorm of bullets thrown at them.

'Charge!' the captain ordered and the men, large bayonets fixed and pikes lowered, as they rushed at full pace towards the targets, quickly knocking down the few which were still standing.

'They're good lads,' Umber said with a laugh. 'Still, why don't the riflemen just fight the way their instructors taught them?'

'The instructors were Farosi,' he answered him. 'No doubt that Princess Radwen would know that and they will expect us to fight like them.'

'So by fighting differently we can take them by surprise,' Blackfish concluded. 'For a while anyway.'

'Yes that's right. This war is going to be different than the others we have fought. We need to fight with our brains as much as our strength.'

'We need to close in quickly with the Farosi to use this tactic,' Blackfish stated as they watched the men reform back into their original formation.

'That's right. With the pikemen it gives our riflemen a better defence against cavalry and, and I trust the men but they can't keep up with the Farosi rate of fire.'

'When we face the Farosi we'll fight them on rough ground then,' said Umber. 'The longer our lads can stay out of enemy fire the better.'

'My thinking as well. Still, we don't need to worry about them yet but we soon will. King Renly is getting ready to take back Oldtown as we speak, or at least I hope he is.'

'Oldtown falling, I still can't believe it,' said Blackfish.

'Neither can I,' Ned agreed with him. 'Two of Westeros's most important cities in Farosi hands, it gives them a massive advantage.'

'When we've dealt with the Lannister's we'll take back the capital,' the Greatjon declared with a confident grin.

'I don't want to face Lord Tywin in a siege,' Ned told the huge man. 'At Harrenhal he could hold out as long as his supplies last.'

'We need to draw him out. From what I know of the man I don't think he'll hide behind Harrenhal's walls.'

'Exactly. He's We march at dawn, let's hope the army is ready for it.'

'We defeated the King Slayer,' Greatjon said in his usual growl. 'We have victory in our hearts and now we can take Tywin Lannister himself!'

Ned nodded and then pulled his horse away and started riding towards his tent where he could hopefully get some rest before his afternoon meeting with his officers. In his head he looked over the weeks since his flight from Kings Landing. He rode with Renly for a while before he parted company with him at Bitterbridge and then riding as hard and fast as he could across the countryside with his retainers until they reached the Riverlands and there he took command of the combined forces of the North and the Tully's had assembled and finally learned all of the details of what his son had been doing from both Robb and Catt. While he disagreed with Robb agreeing to marry Lord Walder's daughter, he'd have rather tried to form a better marriage further along, he did understand why so he had made it adamant that they would honour that agreement. He was also impressed by his sons' victory in what had already been named "The Field of Smoke", crushing the Kingslayer's army and relieving Riverrun. Over the past two weeks he had been all over the Riverland's, gathering strength from the river lords who had been scattered by Lord Tywin's attack at the start of the war and using them to assemble a powerful army. Six thousand men were located at the western edges of the Riverland's along the passes leading to the Westerlands. Their job was to keep Lannister reinforcements in their own territory, Edmure Tully had been given command of that mission, while the rest, coming to thirty five thousand, were camped with him at Stone Hedge, ready to move on Tywin Lannister. Ned had also sent five hundred men to Moat Cailin to keep the position fortified in case they needed to retreat north. He hoped they wouldn't have to but it was always wise to be cautious.

He knew that Tywin wouldn't settle for a siege. While Harrenhal was still a powerful castle, with a good supply of water, it was not stocked for a siege, and Tywin's large army needed to move if it was to survive. If he could defeat Tywin then it would be King's Landing next.

Of course, when he thought of that awful city he thought of two things, the wider war and Jon. As for the wider war, it all depended on Renly and Ned wasn't there to keep him under control. During the Rebellion, Robert had Ned and Jon Arryn there with him to, if not control his rage and passions, then to at least handle them and direct them in the right wat of winning the war. He needed to be there to keep Renly focused but instead he had Mace Tyrell, little more than a puppet of the Queen of Thorns, and Randyll Tarly, a great warrior and commander, but one who had never even seen the Farosi in battle until recently. He had spoken with Tarly when he was with Renly, he found that while he didn't like the man he certainly respected his abilities.

Ned fought alongside the Farosi at the Siege of Pyke, the force they sent to help in that war proved themselves well, King Lukon himself fighting sword in hand alongside his Royal Guard who cut down rank after rank of Ironborn with their rifles before giving them a taste of the "cold steel" of the bayonet. Ned had bought Farosi books on warfare and he saw in them just how ready for war they are, a massive army supported by professional engineers, healers and supply officers commanded by generals who went through years of training instead of receiving those positions by an accident of birth. Any fight against them would be hard and Renly just didn't understand it. He just saw the numbers, the army he had mustered near Highgarden had was so large that their cavalry force alone outnumbered the entire Farosi army. The only way to fight them was with intelligence and cunning and then, maybe, they could drive the Farosi from Westeros.

On top of all that there was still no word from potential allies within the city, and most importantly, no word from Jon. Jon, the thought of the boy he had raised as his son, who had become a man in Farsos, and who now knew the truth of his birth, filled him with regret. He had asked him to spy on people who he had come to trust and respect, putting him in danger, trapping him in a city with a man like Colonel Donnah. He remembers Varys's story of what the Military Police Officer, Colonel Donnah, had done to the spies who had entered the Embassy and he had asked Jon to be a spy. Ned truly hoped that Lyanna would forgive him. Looking back, it was a stupid idea; he shouldn't have done it, for both of their sakes. They should have all fled the city together but now Jon was stuck there. Worse, he believed that Jon may have true feelings for Princess Radwen and such feelings can make a man do incredible things.

For a moment Ned smiled at the memory of Ashara Dayne, if he had been able to he would have married her. He loved her, he wanted her but then the rebellion happened and that was impossible. His wedding to Catt was needed to win the war so he had to marry her but thankfully he had found love with her. He wondered what would have happened if things had turned out differently, but he stopped that line of thought. It would do no one any good and it didn't matter. However, if Jon and Radwen grew closer it would force the young man to make a choice like the one Ned himself had made. While Jon had been raised as his son he truly was a child of Lyanna at heart, that was why he was so eager to go to Farsos in the first place. He had suggested it to him once and after that it was impossible for the boy to think of anything else. Now if he chose his heart over his duty, as Lyanna did, the results would be a Farosi claim to the throne potentially stronger than Renly's.

As he came close to his tent he dismounted his horse and was about to enter it when he saw a young man wearing the livery of House Bracken who owned Stone Hedge, running towards him with a small piece of paper, probably from a raven, in hand.

'Lord Stark,' he said, gasping as he did so. 'Lord Stark, this was sent by raven from Flint's Finger.'

Ned took the message and after reading it he felt his eyes growing wider with every word. He had to read it again and then one more time before it's meaning fully sunk in.

'Find all of the commanders,' he ordered the young page. 'I need to see them now.'

'It will be done,' he responded and hurried off.

Ned looked back at the paper and thought hard on what he would do with this. Its words were few but changed everything, changed his plan for dealing with the Lannister's.

 _Lord Stark_

 _Flint's Finger is under attack by Ironborn. They have firearms. Other towns sacked. Send help._

…

Jon looked at his watch, the face on it was clean and its hands moved perfectly. He had an hour until he had to perform his days inspection of his troopers, so he had just enough time to do what he had to do. He was engaged to Princess Radwen, he was the commander of a troop of fine men and a respected officer yet, even then, he was still alone in this city. He had no way of contacting his father and he had no idea how to even establish a spy ring, especially under the watch of Colonel Donnah. More than that, he just needed someone to talk to about the truth of his father. While he still thought of Lord Stark as his father, Jon was still trying to understand what it meant to have the blood of the dragon. His blood held that of King Aegon the Conqueror, the great dragon riders who brought their house to ruin in the Dance of the Dragons and of the Mad King himself. Since that night where Lord Stark and the others had fled the city Jon had believed that there was no one who could understand him, who could keep his secret but then, he realised at last, that he was wrong. There was one who he could talk to and he was still in the Red Keep. Jon reached the man's room. There were no guards outside of it, he wasn't seen as a threat, and Jon was grateful that it meant no one could see him going to speak with the man.

Looking along the corridor to see it was empty, Jon knocked on the door and waited for a few moments until a voice answered.

'Enter.'

He opened the door and stepped in to see a neat room, a table which several people could sit at, several comfortable chairs and occupying one of them was Ser Barristan Selmy. On the day the princess seized power he had taken several bullets defending Joffrey but he had survived, although he would never be able to walk without a cane again.

'Ser Barristan,' Jon said to him formally.

'Lieutenant,' he answered, putting down the book he had been reading. His tone was formal but he could sense frustration under it. 'Does the princess wish to see me?'

'No she doesn't. I've come here to talk with you.'

'If you want,' was his response and gestured at one of the chairs.

When Jon sat down in it he tried to work out where to start, it was a lot to bring up to him out of nowhere.

'How well are you recovering?' he asked, starting with something normal.

'My leg still hurts,' he answered. 'How can I guard a king when I can't walk without a cane?'

'I'm sorry, Ser Barristan. When we, when me and my men went up to the galleries of the throne room, I wished that you weren't down there.'

'You really are your father's son.'

'You would know.'

'Lord Stark is a good man. During the tourney King Robert held in his honour,' he rolled his eyes at that, Jon knew why, Ned Stark did not want that waste of money.

'I remember, he went to Princess Radwen to ask her to persuade the King to stop it.'

'What did she say to that?'

'That it was a waste of time.'

'She was probably right as well.'

Now was the time to bring it up.

'There was something I wanted to ask you, Ser.'

'Of course. What is it?'

'Well, I'm not really asking you anything. I just, I have something I need to tell you.'

'Then go on.'

'My father, he's an honourable man but he lied.'

'Ned Stark lied?'

'He did. He did it for a good reason though. To protect the people, he loved.'

'I suppose that lies can be justified if he had no choice. What was it then?'

'Lyanna Stark.'

And so he told the old man. The old man who had known Rhaegar, who had fought with him, had seen him grow up now learned his final secret. When Jon finished his story he realised he hadn't actually been looking at Ser Barristan through any of it, instead staring just past the old mans shoulder. Now finished he slowly turned his gaze on the old knight, his expression now made up of a mix between shock and, for some reason, understanding.

'It makes sense,' he said after a few moments of silence so thick that it felt like a lifetime.

'How? How does it make sense?'

'Rheagar would never rape a woman, he would never kidnap a woman, he would never even harm a woman. Once he broke a mans wrist when training and he rushed him to a Maester himself. A lot makes sense now. Before the Battle of the Trident Prince Rheagar came to me and said that he would not kill Lord Stark, he refused to do it. He didn't say why but he claimed that he would need to talk to him after the battle. Knowing what I do now, I think that your father wanted to win Lord Stark's support to help depose Aerys.'

'I wish things had been different.'

'So do I. Jon, Jaehaerys, you would have been raised a prince. I would have probably trained you at arms myself and right now your father would be on the Iron Throne.'

'It feels wrong, being called Jaehaerys, I mean. Who am I really?'

'I don't know who you are, Jon. The point is, you must decide who you are? But I will tell you this, if you are the trueborn son of Rheagar, than I follow you now, my king. If you wed the Princess Radwen, then she will truly have a right to call herself a queen of Westeros.'

'Thank you, Ser Barristan. I have to go now, duty calls.'

'It does. Whatever you decide to do, good luck, Your Grace.'

 _Whatever I do,_ Jon thought to himself. He had to decide who he would be, an officer, a spy or a king.

 **AN: And the Ironborn enter the war, armed and ready, will they topple the Northern army and crush Ned's plans? Jon finds an ally in the south and the war continues.**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Please review and give me your thoughts. Have a great day all of you!**


	8. Chapter 8

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: What's this, an early update. Well, as the last chapter was late and this one was already done I decided to put this one out a bit earlier for  
you. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think.  
**

Chapter Eight

The Storm of Iron

Jon stood in the throne room again in his usual spot as he watched Radwen holding court, sitting on the Iron Throne and listening to Alyn Orkwood, the delegate from the Iron Islands, speak loud and clear of his lord's intentions.

'The might of the Iron Islands has been unleashed against the North,' he loudly proclaimed, twenty of his guards standing behind him with weapons drawn. 'We are armed with muskets and cannons, are armies storm keeps and plunder villages, we take treasure, we kill men, burn houses and take thralls. While Ned Stark runs around the South taking orders from that pompous twit Renly we have taken his lands.'

'That's not completely true,' Colonel Donnah stated from his chair. 'Didn't the garrison at Moat Cailin resist your peoples attack?'

'If it hasn't fallen already that ruin soon will.'

'Please remind me why this is any concern of mine,' said Radwen, sounding bored but Jon knew her well enough now to tell when she was putting on an act.

'We know you Farosi want to conquer all of Westeros,' Orkwood stated bluntly. 'My King has sent me here to tell you this. The Iron Islands belongs to none but the Ironborn. The North is now ours, no different from a ripe maiden waiting to be taken. Fight us and we'll match you gun for gun, leave us be and we'll kill any of Ned Stark's men we see.'

'Are you proposing an alliance?' asked Radwen.

'Sort of. We agree to stay out of each other's way and kill our shared enemies.'

'You expect the might of Farsos to fear a gang of up jumped plunderers?' Curn asked him mockingly.

'We are not mere plunderers. We are the Ironborn. We live for battle.'

'Enough,' Radwen silenced them both. 'Lord Orkwood, as an ambassador you will be treated fairly while you are here. I will bring my decision on your proposal to you in the morning.'

'Thank you, Your Highness,' he said and bowed before turning to leave.

'Lord Orkwood,' Donnah spoke up, 'give Colonel Freman my regards.'

The lord from the Iron Islands allowed the slightest expression of surprise onto his face before he quickly left the throne room.

'Next,' Radwen stated, expecting everyone else who had come to bring issues to the throne that day to not bother anymore thanks to the massive issue brought forward by Orkwood.

'Just one,' Donnah said, looking at his notes. 'Ser Alliser Thorne of the Nights Watch.'

'Let him step forth,' she said and the man whose face seemed moulded to fit a scowl exclusively, and dressed in black leathers and a cloak, stepped forward.

'Your Highness,' he said and bowed slightly.

'Ser Alliser, if you are here for new recruits than I must inform you that Farosi law prohibits conscription into organisations such as the Watch.'

'I am not here just for recruits, though the Watch needs every man it can get. I am here to tell you that the Watch needs the armies of Farsos to come to their aid.'

'You are aware that we are in a war?' Curn asked him.

'Of course, I'm bloody aware of that! I've travelled through the Riverlands and you know what I see? Lannister soldiers looting villages, Stark soldiers looting villages that backed the Lannisters, bandits attacking innocent people and harvests going uncollected. Outside of this city the country is burning and all of that will be nothing if the Wall cannot be held!'

'If you are concerned about the Wildlings we see no reason to worry,' Donnah informed him. 'They are a nuisance.'

'I don't just speak of Wildlings,' Thorne declared. 'I mean of what's worse.'

As he said that Jon felt a chill run down his spine, fearful of what he meant. Of course it couldn't be what he thought.

'What are you saying?' Radwen asked him.

'What do you think? Before I left the Wall we found the bodies of some of our Rangers who went missing. Their hands were black and their eyes blue. Later that night they attacked the members of the Watch and nearly killed the Lord Commander.'

'You're telling me that corpses wondered around Castle Black and attacked your leader?' she asked him, her expression almost amused.

'It's the truth,' he declared as the nobles and soldiers there began laughing. 'The King Beyond the Wall gathers his people into a massive army, the Wall is undermanned and the dead walk! Help defend the lands you want to rule and send soldiers to the Wall.'

'Farsos has better matters to deal with than children's stories,' said Curn. 'In all likelihood this is just an attempt by the Stark's to distract our armies from the real war.'

'I agree,' said Radwen. 'Get this man out of here.'

Two soldiers marched on Throne who shoved them away.

'I'll walk out myself and find Ned Stark. He might actually want to help the Watch.'

Thorne began to walk towards the door and Radwen stood up.

'With that over we can finish up for today.'

Radwen and the other members of the Provisional Council began to walk to the council chamber and everyone else began to file out. Jon however began to quickly walk after Thorne and soon caught up with him in a hall outside of the throne room.

'Ser Alliser,' he said to him.

'What do you want?' he asked angrily and then he noticed the Wolf. 'Jon Snow?'

'Who know of me?'

'Yes. Ned Stark's bastard and the Princesses pet Westerosi.'

'Listen to me, my father has always spoken well of Lord Commander Mormont.'

'So?'

'So I know that Lord Mormont wouldn't send you all the way here on a fool's errand.'

'What are you saying? You believe me?'

'I don't know that, but I do know what I can do. The princess trusts me, I can persuade her to at least send someone to look at the condition of the Watch.'

'And while they're looking Mance Rayder is marching on Castle Black.'

'The Farosi can move soldiers quickly. If they find there is a risk they can send a few regiments at a moments notice.'

'Lieutenant Snow sir,' a young member of the Military Police said as he approached Jon, 'the Provisional Council wants you to attend their next meeting at once.'

'I see,' he turned to face Thorne. 'I give you my word for what it's worth.'

'You better,' he responded and walked away, his expression still frustrated.

So, putting thoughts of his usual afternoon drink with Sergeant Osoni out of his mind which he now knew would be delayed, he headed towards the Provisional Council Chamber where an argument had already broken out.

'Why did you do that?' Radwen snapped at Donnah.

'Because it's expected of me,' he answered coolly.

'Expected of you?' she asked, disbelief on her face. 'What is expected of you is to use every advantage you possess to help win us this war. You had an advantage, you could have used your knowledge of Colonel Freman's presence to give us an advantage. Now you've wasted that for what? To boost your petty ego?'

'Your Highness,' he said slowly and stood up from his chair, seemingly towering over Radwen, 'Freman probably knew when I would work out his deception. He and I are spies. We have rules that we follow, customs that must be observed. Since the Military Police was founded by a few outcast Braavosi we have played by the same rules. All I did here was put it out in the open, I moved another piece on the board.'

'You made it open that we know about what they're up to?' Radwen asked him. 'Why?'

'His main advantage was that he was able to operate in the shadows but that was also a problem. He was restricted in where he could move, what he could do and say. Now I have made it official that I know what he's doing he will move into the light and we can find him, his movements will become more overt, much louder than before. When he makes his next move, we can find him and kill him. Unlike some I never do anything for my ego. Every action I have done has been for Farsos. My only reason for living is to protect Farsos from the darkest of nightmares. All respect to you, Your Highness,' his voice almost became a hiss, 'but never accuse me of vanity.'

Jon looked down at Ghost, his loyal wolf appeared to have moved back a few inches as the man talked at Radwen who appeared rooted to the spot.

'You asked me to be here?' Jon said loudly, breaking the spell which held the Provisional Council in captive silence.

'Yes, we did Jon,' she said and walked to her chair at the head of the table. 'Please take a seat.'

Jon sat at one of the free chair further down the table and looked up at Radwen who had apparently recovered from Donnah's rhetoric.

'The Ironborn attack on the North changes things,' she stated to them. 'The reason you are here Lieutenant,' 'is to provide us with advice. Ned Stark is your father and we need to know what his actions will be. How will he respond to the Ironborn invasion of the North?'

 _This is ridiculous,_ he thought to himself as he thought about the madness of the situation he was in. His father had asked him to act as a spy, which at the moment he was failing at, and now Radwen was asking him to advise her over what actions his father would take because of the Ironborn attack on the North. _At this rate I'm going to loose track of who I am spying for._

'He's a Stark,' was his answer.

'Thank you for stating the obvious,' Wrenwood said to him, clearly impatient.

'You don't understand what I mean Mister Wrenwood. Have you ever heard of Wintertown?'

'No.'

'I thought not. By Winterfell is a town that's empty in the summer, when the winter comes the people of House Stark's lands flock to the town and shelter there through the winter.'

'Your point is, Lieutenant?' asked Curn.

'The point I am making is that every leader of House Stark, for thousands of years, has shared one trait, a sense of duty to their people. From the last King in the North to my father they have always sought to defend their people above all else.'

'Meaning you think that Lord Stark will move to defend the North?' Radwen asked him.

'Nine chances out of ten I'd say yes.'

'In other words, there will be nothing keeping the Lannister's pinned at Harrenhall,' Curn concluded. 'They could force their way back to the Westerlands and fortify themselves there, gather reinforcements and strike back at us or Renly.'

'So what do we do?' Radwen asked him.

'We can't do anything,' he told her. 'Unless Lord Stark wants to assist us we are stuck in this pigsty of a city.'

'Actually,' Radwen realised, her eyes growing slightly wider. 'I need a raven ready to be sent to Oldtown at once.'

'For what?' asked Wrenwood to which Radwen shot first him and then Jon her coy smile.

'To tell Admiral Greenman to get ready to sail north.'

 **AN: And the Ironborn storm the North, Colonel Donnah is focused on his private war and Radwen had prepared a new scheme to win over  
support. What will happen next? Find out next time.**

 **As ever, I hope you enjoyed and please review, I love reading feedback. Have a great day.**

 **Review Responses:**

 **Tertius711: Yes, Jon does have a good claim but what will he do with it? Thanks for the review.**


	9. Chapter 9

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: So the trailer for Season 8 looked cool and, yes, Season 7 could have been better, but I still can't wait!**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I seriously enjoyed writing it, I hope you have as much fin reading it as I had writing it.**

Chapter Nine

Not Alone

'How did we get into this mess?' Arya asked her two friends, Gendry, the large black smith who was polishing a sword he had made earlier, and Hot Pie who was eating a spare pie as a group of Lannister soldiers walked past them towards one of the armouries of Harrenhal.

'What mess?' asked Gendry. 'The being a girl who tried to join the Watch? The running into the Lannister soldiers who accused of being Stark spies? The getting captured by the Lannister soldiers while nearly everyone else got killed? Should I go on?'

'No, I think you just explained it all,' Arya agreed with him

'Wait, you forgot the part about you becoming Lord Tywin's cup bearer,' said Hot Pie as he finished his pie

'It wasn't my fault,' she defended herself. 'That reminds me, I have to serve wine at their meeting today.'

'Better get up there then,' Gendry said to her as Arya got up from her loose rock she had been using as a chair and headed towards the meeting chamber.

As she thought about her current position in the world she supposed it could be worse, she could still be on the road, sitting on the back of a wagon or walking for hours and hours. Arya thought about the night they had to flee from the Red Keep, with very few belongings they raced through the city, Arya carrying Needle wrapped in a cloth all the while They were dressed the same as the men she saw in the tunnels beneath Kings Landing and they fired on them before they could all board the ship. Sansa and Lady rushed onto the ship with Septa Mordane while their guards and Syrio, led by Jory, fought back. Arya was soon cut off from the ship. Nymeria sticking with her as she went, and they hid behind some crates. Peering over the crates she watched as her fathers' men, men she had known for her whole life, being cut down one by one by the Farosi.

'Hold still, a voice from behind her said and she felt something cold being pressed into the back of her neck, it was round and metal, the end of a rifle.

'I won't move,' she said, her voice filled with fear when suddenly Nymeria roared and jumped up.

The cold feeling was gone, and Arya turned to see a Farosi in black having his throat torn out by Nymeria. Within seconds though bullets tore through the air and Nymeria was hit many times, her lifeless body falling limp against the ground. Arya could remember screaming in rage but heard no noise. Her attention was snapped back to reality when she saw the ship pulling away and Syrio grabbed her by the back of her dress and pulled her away from the fighting.

'Boy,' he said to her and smiled once, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, 'run.'

He then turned, raised his sword and charged into the battle, dodging bullets as if he could see them coming and slicing through the Farosi, killing so many of them. Arya didn't see what happened to him, she had to run, and she ran as fast as she could until the gunfire was long behind her and she was truly lost. By the time the sun rose, and the bells tolled Arya was hiding in an alley not knowing what to do. She was hungry and alone. She couldn't go back to the Keep, the Lannister's couldn't be trusted, and the Farosi had killed Nymeria and Syrio so she couldn't go the Embassy. She looked at Needle, wrapped in its cloth, and thought about how useless she was. Her sword and she hadn't even used it in the fight. As the day went on she managed to move quickly and stole a crust of bread from a baker and that was her meal. For a while she wished that she had been wearing breaches instead of a dress, it would have made things easier for a start. Then, during the afternoon, she had been walking down a street with an open sewer running along one side when she looked down into it and saw one of the barred doors in it being pushed open and, to her horror, hundreds of Farosi soldiers emerged, bayonets fixed, and moving with a look of men ready to fight. As soon as some nearby Gold Cloaks saw them they raised their shotguns only to be shot by a dozen Farosi. Arya ran and in a matter of moments gunfire rang out across the city.

Everywhere Arya looked she saw fighting, Gold Cloaks being gunned down by Farosi soldiers, Farosi soldiers being pinned against walls and run through. Blood ran through the streets and somewhere a building caught fire, but the chaos was everywhere, small folk running and hiding, trying to escape or avoid the Farosi and Gold Cloaks. She ran into a street to see a large number of Farosi soldiers and Gold Cloaks fighting hand to hand so she made to flee when suddenly a man grabbed her and pulled her into a dark room. Arya screamed but when she saw him she realised he was dressed in black, one of the Nights Watch.

'Arya Stark?' he asked her.

'Yes.'

'Do you remember me? Yoren?'

'The recruiter for the Watch?' she asked him, remembering the grumpy man who sometimes appeared at Winterfell in his duties.

'Aye that's me.'

He kept her hidden in a small building for a couple of days after that, cutting her hair and dressing her in boys' clothes so no one would question who she was. The idea was to hide her amongst recruits for the Watch and drop her off in Winterfell on the way to the Wall. However, things went badly wrong when, on the way, they were attacked by Lannister soldiers, most of their group, including Yoren was killed. The survivors were placed under arrest and taken to Harrenhal where they were pressed into service for the Lannisters, in the process Needle was confiscated by one of the Lannister men.

As usual she entered the meeting chamber before the leaders of the Lannister army arrived, so she could set the cups in the right places. Just as she finished Lord Tywin arrived, followed by everyone else. As they took their seats Arya moved around the table filling each cup with wine, all the while listening to them discussing their plans.

'Our scouts report that the rumours are true,' Ser Kevan informed them. 'The Ironborn have attacked the western shores of the North and Eddard Stark is moving his forces home.'

'Just the Northern troops or the Riverman as well?' asked Amory Lorch.

'Just the Northerners, Tully troops are positioned along every ford and easy passage way to the Westerlands.'

'We smash through them,' Gregor Clegane growled.

'Easier said than done,' Adam Marbarand told him. 'We can either try to force our way across a ford or we can march across the Reach and be ambushed by Renly.'

'I say we face Renly,' the Kingslayer, who Arya was truly glad that he hadn't recognised her with her different hair and scruffy appearance, suggested with confidence. 'If we can knock him out of the war we can let the Farosi plunder the Reach while we rebuild our strength.'

'And let Farosi reinforcements arrive?' asked Kevan. 'No, we need to crush the Farosi as quickly as possible and that means we need to defeat Renly, muster the rest of the realm to our side and fight them off.'

'You're worried about a bunch of unarmoured foreigners who are so scarred of fighting hand to hand that they are only armed with bows that make a lot of noise?' Marbarand asked him, clearly not taking this seriously.

'We will not be going west,' Lord Tywin silenced the argument.

'But doesn't that cut us off from reinforcements?' asked Kevan.

'We are already cut off. Every piece of ground the Farosi control makes us look weak, it's a humiliation. We will show them that they cannot humiliate House Lannister. We will take back Kings Landing.'

'Kings Landing?' asked Kevan. 'I suppose that with most of the Northern Army marching home we can move without the threat of them attacking us.'

'If we capture Kings Landing we will also have the foreign princess as our prisoner,' Marbarand said with a smile. 'It gives us a trophy.'

'And we can get my sister and her children back,' Ser Jaime added quickly.

'We march in three days,' Tywin told them. 'Our soldiers who have trained to fight against rifles will prove their worth now. Dismissed.'

Knowing not to stay any longer than they had to when their lord had made up his mind, everyone quickly left and Arya began to clear away the goblets as Lord Tywin began to look through some documents. For a moment Arya considered trying to get a look at them but she decided against it, not worth the risk.

'You've been a good cup bearer,' Tywin said to her.

'Thank you, milord,' she said, remembering how a lowborn girl would say it.

'You can stop bothering with that now,' he said and fixed her with a glare that made Arya realise what the sheep felt like before the lion pounced.

'I'm sorry?' fear started pulsing through her.

'I know you're of noble blood, it's obvious, you can read, you can speak far better than the daughter of a common man and you know how to behave around men like me. I don't know what house you are of but I understand why you lied.'

'Then,' she said, keeping her voice as level as possible, 'why did I lie?'

'You're from the North, your accent made it obvious, and you and the group you were with were riding away from the capita when you had been captured. A noble girl from a Northern House disguised as a boy and fleeing from Kings Landing. What does that suggest?'

Arya said nothing, instead trying to fight against her will to break eye contact with the old lion.

'My spies in the city told me that Lord Stark's daughters boarded a ship which was attacked by the Farosi. It escaped though, meaning that you aren't one of Lord Stark's daughters. You were a part of his household though. Who are you? No more lies, no more deceptions.'

She had to think fast, she couldn't tell him the truth but would he know it was a lie? She spoke, praying in her mind to whoever would listen.

'I'm, Alena Forrester,' she answered, remembering the name of one of their bannermen, a minor house so Lord Tywin probably wouldn't know it well enough to work out she was lying.

'Forrester?' he asked. 'I see. A minor house of the Wolfswood.'

'That's us,' she said and nodded. 'I was a lady in waiting for Lady Sansa, I was going to go on the ship with her and Arya when we were attacked. I ran away and then I found Yoren and told him who I was. The Watch have always been friendly to House Stark and their bannermen so he agreed to smuggle me home.'

'I see. When we march on King's Landing you will come with us and still serve as my cup bearer. When the city is retaken you will then serve as a lady in waiting to Princess Radwen after we take her prisoner. Consider yourself fortunate that you will spend the rest of the war as a hostage and perhaps you may be exchanged as the war goes on. Return to your quarters.'

'Thank you, Lord Tywin,' she said quickly and almost ran out of there, knowing that it was now or never.

She needed to find Jaqen H'gar.

…

The sea was calm that day, and for that Sansa was relieved, it made it easier to spot ships from her usual perch on top of the rock she had made her home for, she actually didn't know how long. Far in the distance she could see a ship and she had waved a sheet and shouted but it did no good. In recent days she had seen ships at around the same time every day, as regular as the guards at Winterfell, she supposed that they must be acting in the same way. At last she gave up after the ship disappeared over the horizon so she climbed down from her perch, very slowly and carefully thanks to her foot which, although bandaged, still hurt badly from her deep cut. When she reached the bottom Sansa found Lady, waiting obediently for her to feed her. Sansa gently patted her wolf on the head, her coat was looking a bit shabby but, even though she didn't have access to a mirror, Sansa thought that she probably looked just as bad, considering that they had been away from any way of cleaning themselves for so long. Knowing that it was feeding time, Sansa led Lady towards the shelf of rock they slept under where she pulled the basket from there and opened it to reveal the last of the salted meat and the dried fruit they had received in it the last time it had been refilled.

Yes, since that time, she had lost track of the number of days, when the wicker basket appeared. Of course she had guessed it must have gone overboard from a ship and, she had made it last as long as possible, even to the point that the fruit was starting to go soft when she finished it, and with the basket empty she had left it where she had found it at the edge of the sea. The next morning, when she went looking for fresh water in the crooks and crannies of the rock when she saw that the basket was filled again. Fruit, fresh and dried, meet and a skin of fresh water. Of course she was confused and at first thought it was a dream or perhaps, somehow, another basket had washed up. But no, it was the same basket and once again, it was filled with food.

Sansa had rationed it carefully, so it would last as long as possible and, when it was emptied again she had left it close to her shelf of rock and, again, when she woke up one morning, it was full again. Three more times it had been refilled and now, as she finished the last of this latest batch, she was determined to work out just what was going on.

'We'll see who it is tonight,' she said to Lady as the wolf ate her food. 'I'm grateful for what they've done. I couldn't have survived on seaweed much longer.'

Lady seemed to look at her with a questioning gaze.

'And I just want to know who they are, I want to thank them for everything. I owe them my life.'

So, when the sun set that night, and Sansa went to where she and Lady slept, she just laid there, wrapped in the torn sails and sheets she used as a bed, and tried to stay awake. She studied the patterns on the rock above her, and thought. She thought of Arya and where she was. She hoped that she was in Kings Landing, safe with Jon and the Farosi and father. Her mother, safe at Winterfell with poor Bran, and Rickon. She didn't even know what was going on, her entire world has become a small piece of rock in the middle of the sea. She wondered what would happen when a ship found her, would they carry her home, they would be well rewarded to do it.

'No!' she shouted after realising that, just for a few seconds, she had closed her eyes.

Sansa's eyes snapped to her right and she saw the basket, filled again with food and water. She looked to the edge of her shelf and gasped as she saw movement, the hem of a dress, its wearer moving away quickly.

'Wait!' Sansa shouted, waking up Lady, as she tore out of her blankets and crawled out of the rock towards the woman.

When she was out in the open she saw looked left and right but there was no one. She raced around the rock to where she first saw the basket and saw something, ripples as if a large stone had been dropped into the water, the ripples spreading out as Sansa raced towards them and then looked into the water but saw only her own reflection looking back up at her. No, just for a second, she saw another face, with different eyes as blue as the sea, but she vanished at once. Now the face was gone and Sansa was alone as well, except for Lady.

'I just want to talk to you!' she screamed, her voice echoing over the water. 'Please! Come back!'

Nothing happened. The face didn't reappear, the woman was nowhere to be seen. Growling in the agony of her failure she angry turned from the water and walked back to her bed and the basket. Out of habit she looked though the contents of the basket and saw the usual food and drink but now there was something else, right at the bottom, was a letter, sealed with wax. She quickly grabbed it and looked at the seal, in the faint light of the moon she could see that the seal was in the shape of a wave. She broke it open and looked at the perfectly flowing writing, straining her eyes to see it without a candle.

 _Lady Sansa, I admire your tenacity and I understand why you would want to see me. However, now is not the time, though it soon will be. In three days, as night falls, go to the place you saw me and you shall learn who I am and why I helped you. I look forward to finally speaking to you._

Sansa re read it many more times, even as night ended and the sun climbed over the horizon, she would read through it.

Now she knew that she would no longer be alone. She looked to the place where she saw the face in the water and thought that the slightest amount of movement could be seen beneath the surface.

 **AN: I thought it was about time that I show what Arya's been getting up to. I loved the scenes between her and Tywin in the show, it was probably one of the best additions they made to the show. Watching it I had the feeling that Tywin was interrogating her and probably suspected who she was. Here he's had less time to do that and, as a result, he's willing to accept her explanation.**

 **As for Sansa, well, what do you think's going on?**

 **I hope you enjoyed and please review, I adore any feedback I get.**


	10. Chapter 10

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: I'm sorry this one is late but I have been pretty damn sick lately, seriously, when most people have a cold for a few days I get the whole lot in one day and I'm left drained for days after it. Anyway, here's the latest chapter and I hope you enjoy it.**

Chapter Ten

Triumph and Regret

Sam stood alone on the battlefield, in every direction he looked he saw corpses. There was a strange pattern to where the dead had fallen, some in lines, others in clusters and others scattered everywhere, alone in their eternal sleep. The sky was bright and clear, without a single cloud in sight, and the evening sun casted everything with a golden glow yet, even now, the battlefield was still dark, the grass churned up revealing the black soil beneath it. To his left was a Farosi supply wagon, its crates of marching bread and corned beef thrown off and now occupied by five dead Farosi soldiers, one of them was a Lieutenant the same age as Sam, even in death he still held his sword, coated crimson with blood. Around it were fifteen dead Westerosi, wearing the colours of House Tarly, a monument to Farosi firepower. Wounded men were still being carried away on bloodied sheets or even just being dragged along the ground.

Three days earlier he, and the rest of King Renly's army, had arrived at that place, near the town and keep of Egmot to fight their great battle against the Farosi. The soldiers in their army, not really an army but a large force of a thousand knights, three thousand men at arms and a thousand bowmen as well as two hundred men armed with looted Farosi rifles, camped outside of the town while Renly, Loras and Sam, as well as the other senior leaders of the army, rode into Egmot's courtyard where Ser Romar Eges, who owned the land, came out to greet them. He was an older man but was very tough. Standing behind him was someone Sam was glad to see, Ser Robel Eges, Ser Romar's son and a friend of Sam's. Robel was a few years older than Sam and for a while had been fostered at Horn Hill before receiving his knighthood. After they climbed off their horses and King Renly exchanged the usual pleasantries with Ser Romar before entering the castle to discuss the plans for the coming battle but Sam and Robel hang at the back of the group.

'I thought the Farosi would have made you a bit thinner at least,' he said jokingly, unlike his father's cruel comments about it.

'And I'd have thought your father would have made you a bit smarter,' he joked back.

'So, what have you been doing while I've been forced to stay here and my brother's actually been fighting.'

'We've spent over a week attacking the Farosi patrols. They've been moving from village to village confiscating weapons so we did the same.'

'You attacked their patrols?'

'I didn't. His Grace did most of the fighting, I've just been an advisor.'

'So you've been attacking them, why have you come here?'

'Eventually the Farosi realised what we were doing and they've concentrated all of their troops in one place to come after us.'

'And we're going to fight them here?'

'That's the plan,' he answered, not thinking about how many would soon be dead.

'Fantastic!'

'No it isn't,' he said, lowering his voice slightly so the rest of the group wouldn't hear them. 'I told his Grace not to fight a pitched battle, to ambush them on the march.'

'Then why are we going to fight them properly?' he was clearly confused.

'We aren't but one of our bowmen came from here and he said that it's the perfect place for a large ambush.'

'How long left?'

'A few days, the Farosi army moves slowly.'

'And then we'll crush them!' Renly shouted form his position at the head of the group as they entered Ser Romar's solar where a map of the Eges's lands were displayed. By the table were two men already, a Maester who appeared to be in his early forties and an old man in his early seventies with a sword at his waist.

'Maester Romlar,' Ser Romar introduced him, 'and my Master at Arms, Ser Stannis Orbert.'

Both bowed to King Renly who instantly began looking at the map while everyone else took up positions around the map where they could see what was going on.

'The Farosi are predictable,' Renly began. 'Their camps we raided were all set up in the same way and Tarly has told us that their larger camps will all be set up the same way. This means that they need a lot of space to set up a camp with over three thousand men in it, and there is only one place where they can do that on these lands.'

'Torin's Field,' said Ser Stannis.

'Exactly,' he replied and pointed at the large field on the map.

Sam looked at it and remembered when they went past it to get to the castle, he had been the one to tell Renly that it is the sort of place the Farosi would set up camp. The field was grass, used for grazing sheep, and surrounded on all but one sides by woods too thick for troops to move through. On the one side it wasn't there was a road and past it boggy ground impossible for an army to attack over. It was a perfect place to defend, impossible to be ambushed at.

'Now, the Farosi soldiers will not expect an attack in a place like that, so we'll attack them there.'

'How?' asked Robel.

'Mind your tongue boy,' Ser Romar told him before looked back at Renly.

'Are there any poachers in the area?'

'We have two in the cells now,' Ser Stannis answered him.

'And do they know those woods well?'

'Yes.'

'All woods have paths in them and these poachers will know them,' Ser Loras added. 'The poachers will be offered freedom in exchange for leading our men alone the paths.'

'May I speak?' offered Robel.

'If you have something good to say,' was Renly's response.

'I grew up playing in the woods there, I know some ways through myself.'

'Then you can help lead us through,' Renly answered with a nod. 'Anyway, as for the bogs, a whole army cannot attack over them I noticed that there were islands of dry ground in it.'

'The frog hunters amongst the small folk use them,' Ser Romar explained.

'We'll position our riflemen and bowmen on those islands. On the dawn after they arrive we will attack the Farosi camp through the woods on foot. Our cavalry won't be able to attack thanks to the terrain but with surprise our infantry can overwhelm them, strike before they can form firing lines and we'll take away the advantage of their rifles. If the try to escape through the bogs our riflemen and bowmen will shoot them as they come.'

'It's a risk,' Sam reminded him. 'I'd prefer to take them on the march.'

'No,' Renly said again. 'If we attack at dawn they will not be ready to fight. They will still be breaking their fast, they will be waking up, they won't be ready to fight.'

'Won't they place guards around their camp?' asked one of the commanders.

Yes but not many,' Sam answered. 'The Farosi would never take a risk like marching thousands of men through the woods and they'd not expect anyone else to try it. All we need to worry about are a few lookouts ordered to stop scouts. If we bring our best bowmen through the woods they could easily handle them.'

'Then that's what we'll do,' Renly finished. 'The Farosi will arrive in three days and we have a lot of work to do.

For the next three days they did work, making it look like they were going to defend a hill close by so they prepared it with stakes and pits to defend against infantry and cavalry attacks. As they worked Sam did notice riders dressed in blue in the distance, every now and again there was a glint, the obvious sign of binoculars. Farosi scouts, it was a good wager that they knew what was happening, Sam only hoped they would fall for it.

At last the outriding Heavy Horsemen of the Farosi army arrived and, as they predicted, made their camp on Torin's Field. That evening, as the sun began to set, Sam put on a dark wool cloak and checked his revolver as he made his way towards the "Bog Boys" as they had been nicknamed, the riflemen and bowmen who would take position in the bog. Sam had been selected to lead them and he intended on doing his job well, when he was stopped by Robel, dressed in a coat of plates and some lighter plate armour.

'I'll see you when this is done,' he told Sam.

'I hope we make it.'

'So do I. Do you think we have a chance at winning?'

'If the plan goes well then yes. If it doesn't,' he stopped and said quietly, 'we're fucked.'

'So you didn't persuade the King to not lead the attack himself?'

'No I didn't. He says the only place a king should be is at the front where the fighting is thickest,' Sam knew he rolled his eyes but he didn't care.

'Good luck,' Robel said and Sam knew that this was it, the next time they'd see each other would be after the battle.

When dawn at last arrived, after a night of rowing through the bog with muffled oars, using the boats the frog hunters themselves used, and they took up positions on the islands of dry ground but many of them were flooded in the night. Sam's Farosi boots though were waterproof but most of his fellow soldiers weren't as lucky, their feet were soaked in the night and Sam had to make sure that the gun powder was kept dry. In truth he was not impressed by the abilities of his riflemen, they had next to no training, each of them had only fired a single shot, at best he guessed they would probably get off one round a minute, maybe two if they were very fast, and they ammunition was limited. His bowmen were much better, they could let off many more arrows than even a well trained rifleman could fire bullets.

As Sam and his men silently tried to keep dry in the bog, he often cast an envious eye towards the fires burning in the Farosi camp. He knew that the Farosi troops, dressed in warm clothes on dry ground were sitting around those fires eating marching bread and corned beef with dried fruit, expecting to fight a pitched battle in the morning against an inferior enemy. He truly pitied them, they had no idea that they were being watched.

When the dawn came it was a crisp, clear morning and Sam hated it, he had been hoping for some fog to keep them hidden for longer. At this rate all it would take would be a look through binoculars and they would be revealed. Sam however pulled out his own and looked out across the Farosi camp, a field of white canvas tents with Farosi flags flapping in the occasional gusts of wind. The soldiers, most of them not wearing their blue jackets and jerkins, instead in their grey undershirts, as they ate their breakfast.

'Milord,' one of the riflemen, a young lad of seventeen, said to him, 'is the king ready?'

'I hope so.'

'How can we tell?'

'If he attacks then we'll know,' he answered.

He scanned across the treeline beyond the camp looking for something, no, looking for anything that suggested that Renly and his men were in place but the trees were so thick that they made a solid wall of green. As he looked over them he saw a branch move in the wind, wait, it wasn't a branch. A man emerged from the treeline, a glint of yellow about his head and Sam knew it was Renly in his battle crown.

'I see him,' he told his men close by and excited glances were shared between them all.

As he watched he also saw others emerge from the trees at a slow walk, all of them with weapons drawn.

'Charge,' Sam muttered under his breath.

Almost the same second he said it a horn was blown in the trees and a roar went up as the trees opened and unleashed a flood as thousands of Westerosi soldiers, knights on foot in shining plate followed by levies in mail and gambesons raced towards the Farosi camp. Sam pulled up the war horn on his belt and gave it a blow, ordering his men to stand up at last and prepare to fight.

With his binoculars at his eyes he watched as the Farosi abandoned their food and went to grab their rifles. Gunshots went off in the camp and soon the noise became one massive sound of blades clashing and guns firing but above it all were the screams of men dying.

'Milord,' someone said and Sam looked towards the closest part of the camp where he saw wounded and panicked Farosi, many of them still holding their rifles, trying to escape the carnage.

'All soldiers!' Sam shouted as loud as he could, remembering to bring the shout from his chest. 'Fire at will!'

He drew his own revolver and aimed at one of the Farosi as all his men fired around him. Arrows filled the air and struck the enemy down, pinning them to the ground while the rifles tore up the ground around the enemy or struck the soldiers themselves.

'Mark your targets before you fire!' Sam ordered as he walked behind the men on his island.

'I got one!' shouted a soldier.

'Well done. Keep firing!'

Sam pulled the trigger at a Farosi soldier and saw the man go down, he didn't think about that, he just kept his mind on the fight. Thanks to the tents he couldn't see how the battle was going but if the number of men trying to escape was anything to go by, Renly was fighting well, driving straight through the Farosi camp. Suddenly the trickle of Farosi became a flood as nearly a thousand of them by Sam's guess burst through the edge of the camp and started racing for the bog. Sam was about to order them to fire faster when he saw amongst them were men and women of the medical service in their number.

'Aim only at the men in blue!' he ordered the soldiers. 'Aim only at the men in blue!'

As if to make his point he aimed at a Farosi officer dressed in the breast plate and plumed helmet of the Heavy Horse struggling through the bog and fired, striking the man in the neck and sending him into a deep pool of foul, muddy water. So many of the enemy were running into the bog that a great crowd formed at the edge, trying to push forwards but the mass of them made them one giant moving target.

'FIRE ONLY AT THE MEN IN BLUE!' he repeated when he saw a nurse fall with an arrow in her neck.

Suddenly there was a change in the crowd as Renly's forces emerged from the camp and prepared to charge while another horn was blown, Sam knew what it meant.

'Cease fire!' he ordered and around him his men and then the others began to stop shooting as the Farosi survivors stopped moving, stuck at the edge of the bog, surrounded.

'Farosi!' a great voice echoed around the battlefield, it was Renly. 'You fought well! Now lay down your arms with honour!'

For a few seconds they did nothing, none of them seemed to know what to do, but then, someone dropped his rifle and raised his arms in the air to surrender. As soon as he did everyone else did, some faster than others, but in under a minute, the survivors of the battle were all heading towards King Renly's forces who began to cheer at their victory.

Sam was silent as about him men cheered, and he remained silent for many hours as he walked through the camp, the dead and the dying all about him. He walked past an ammunition wagon where the corpse of a quarter master in a green uniform stained black by the spear in his chest laid as still as a fallen tree. Renly's soldiers were removing the boxes of cartridges from the wagon, ignoring the dead man. He then saw a few men collecting rifles from the corpses as a dozen members of the Farosi Heavy Horse who had been taken prisoner, still wearing their steel breast plates and plumed helmets, were marched past him under guard. The next part of the chaos he found was a wooden carriage, small and agile with a folding out table at the back. Empty stretchers covered the carriage and on the fold out table was the corpse of a young woman, her light blue dress turning crimson from the large slash wound which had town her dress and white apron, as well as her chest open. Her lifeless eyes were almost longingly looking up at the sky. Next to her, on the ground and barely alive, was a Surgeon wearing a white uniform, an arrow sticking out of his shoulder while another nurse, wearing the same uniform as her dead comrade on the fold out table, tried to keep him comfortable.

'Don't worry Mister Coon,' she whispered to him and held a water canteen to his lips. 'Just keep looking at me.'

'I can't see anything,' he said back and then his head slumped forwards, the nurse shook her head and stood up, turning towards Sam before looking at him in disgust and striding towards a wounded man close by wearing a Farosi uniform, a leather bag in her hand.

Sam walked away from her as well, he didn't want to argue with a Farosi nurse who was angry at anything that looked Westerosi. A gunshot rang out and Sam spun around seeing a wounded Farosi infantryman, laying on the ground and pointing a smoking rifle at a Westerosi levy who was staggering backwards. Seconds later a knight rushed to the dying man and brought a hammer down onto his head.

'I stopped him!' the knight gladly declared and held his hammer aloft. 'I killed the bastard!'

Sam felt even worse at the sight of the soldier's brains being splattered everywhere. This was all because of him. This whole battle was his idea, his plan and all these men were dead and he had helped to kill them. Again he saw more people helping the wounded, Maester Romlar was one of them and next to him was a Farosi Surgeon, trying to stop a knight in fine armour from dying.

'If we don't stop the bleeding we'll loose him,' said the Surgeon.

'Try this,' Romlar said and poured a liquid from a vial into the knights mouth.

'What is that?'

'It thickens the blood, if it doesn't stop the bleeding, nothing will.'

'Surgeon!' a nurse shouted, staggering towards him with a Farosi officer, still clutching a torn Farosi flag in his shaky hands, limping with her. 'This man was stabbed through the arm. What do I do?'

The Surgeon got up and inspected the wound for a few moments before looking at the nurse.

'Clean the wound and remove any foreign objects then stitch him up.'

'Yes sir.'

The Surgeon then looked at Sam with anger.

'Either help or clear off you barbarian!' he snapped.

Sam of course walked away, hoping that perhaps it would all be over soon.

'SAM!' a few moments later came the shout and a heavy arm wrapped around Sam's shoulders.

He looked and sighed with relief when he saw it was Robel, a deep cut went across his eye brow but he looked fine.

'You made it,' he said with relief.

'I've been looking for you,' was his response. 'I killed three of them. Three, one was an officer and I struck him down in single combat.'

'Well done,' Sam told him, not feeling joy at the death of another. For all he knew, Sam might have trained with that officer.

'Anyway, His Grace wants to see you.'

'What for?'

'To congratulate you. If you hadn't helped to plan this then we'd not have won.'

Sam didn't say anything, he just began walking in the direction that Robel had pointed until they past a line of Farosi bodies laying on the ground, the hats placed over their faces and their hands, when they still had them, on their chests. Standing by them was a young woman in blue robes holding a brass bowl of water and casting drops over the bodies.

'With honour you lived,' she sadly said to them. 'With courage you died. Now embark on the final voyage to the True Queen's halls.'

'What's she talking about?' asked Robel.

'She's a priestess of the True Queen. She's doing the Farosi funeral rights.'

Sam stopped for a moment and removed his hat before saluting the dead men with respect. They then continued to walk towards Renly who was giving orders over the care of the wounded and the burial of the dead. As soon as he saw Sam, the king stopped and quickly walked over to him with open arms.

'Tarly! I was wondering where you went. Where have you been anyway?'

'I was just walking.'

'Well you can stop walking and start celebrating. All the other leaders of our army will be having a feast at the castle tonight and I expect to see you there.'

'Of course Your Grace.'

The look on Renly's face turned from exhilaration to concern.

'Come with me.'

The two walked a short distance away from everyone else so they couldn't be overheard and then Renly spoke.

'This is your first battle isn't it?'

'It is.'

'Mine too. Look, if you're feeling shame over this don't. We're not fighting to just keep the Lannister's away from the throne. We're fighting to save Westeros from invasion.'

'I know we are.'

'Then don't forget, you used to wear their uniform but now you fight for me. I know you can do this.'

'I can fight against the Farosi, Your Grace, but don't forget that I never wanted to take lives. I'm only doing this so my house won't lose everything.'

'And I respect you for that. I know you don't like these people dying, I know you don't want to lead the fight, but we have no choice. I know you have courage, I know you can fight.'

'And I will.'

'In that case make sure none of the men see you so miserable. They need their leaders to be confident or they will lose all their courage.'

'I know, that's why I haven't been wondering around weeping. I just had to see the aftermath.'

'Your Grace,' Ser Eges shouted over to him, 'we've found the Farosi commander.'

'Good,' Renly responded, a confident smile across his face. 'Bring him to me,' he then turned to face Sam. 'Watch.'

A moment later a pair of knights marched towards Renly, between them, wearing a uniform which was once smart but now smeared with mud and blood, was a tall, well built Farosi officer with a proud moustache and grey hair, his heavy officers' sword at his waist.

'You are?' Renly asked him.

'Brigadier Horack Burnson of His Majesties 8th Battle Corps. I assume I am speaking with Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storms End.'

'King of Westeros,' he corrected him. 'I hope you are willing to surrender, Brigadier. Your men fought well, you should be proud of them.'

'I am proud of every single one of them. They fought well, they fought bravely, and they fought to kill you. That is why I am proud of them.'

'You're a bold man,' Renly laughed. 'Still, don't you know which of us has won here?'

'I know which of us will win the war. Farsos will crush you.'

'Your army was crushed here today.'

'It doesn't matter. We have more, we can replace the men killed here today. Can you say the same?'

'I have almost all of Westeros behind me.'

'Really? I doubt it will last. I look at your army and I see conscripts, men pulled from their fields to fight, mercenaries who will abandon you when the going gets tough and knights so green I'm surprised they're not falling from trees. I look at the armies of Farsos and I see soldiers, unbroken ranks of blue who know who and what they fight for.'

'We can argue this for days, Brigadier. I ask that you surrender yourself now.'

'I want answers first.'

'Answers? Very well, you've earned that much.'

'Why do you have scum in your army?'

'Scum?'

'Do you want to know where I have been since the battle ended? I have been with the nurses of my army, young women who only wanted to come here and save lives. They were here to save lives, they had orders that after a battle they were to save the lives of anyone who was wounded even if they were not our own soldiers. If you had been wounded they would have nursed you back to health. Do you know what happened to them? Your men attacked them, they beat them, and they raped them! I want those men found and I want them hanged for what they did!'

Sam looked at the expression on Renly's face, it was confident but there was now a coldness to it.

'You're asking me to find a small number of men. I don't know if it can be done.'

'Don't you care?' Burnson growled at Renly. 'You're no king, you're no lord even. You're a thug who dances around in a crown! The leader of an army of thugs who call themselves lords! You people claim innocence, you claim that you have the right to fight us. You Westerosi, you deserve to be conquered! It's all you're good for, to be little more than ants beneath the boot of King Lukon! No, I refuse to surrender to you! I'd rather die but I will live only to see you and everyone who fight for you dragged to Faros, be forced to beg for mercy before the Emerald Throne and then be hanged!'

'I won't kill you,' Renly told Burnson, a slight shake in his voice from the tirade of verbal abuse. 'You'll be held a captive until the end of the war at Highgarden.'

'So be it. I look forward to your trial, the fate of all war ciminals.'

He was taken away and Renly's look was one of anger but some shame. He looked to one of his aides, Lord Alester Florent.

'I want the rapers found and their cocks cut off.'

'Yes, Your Grace.'

Renly then turned to Sam again and a smile crossed the kings face.

'You may not like it Tarly, but I owe today to you. Tonight you will go before a Septon, in the morning you will be a knight.'

That took Sam aback, the words not meaning anything at first, but he slowly came to realise what it meant.

'Thank you,' he muttered.

'No, thank you for this victory.'

Renly then walked to a nearby Farosi soldier, dead, but still clutching his rifle with a bloodied bayonet. The King grabbed the rifle and held it up in the air, a sign of victory.

'This won't bring victory,' Sam muttered to himself. 'It will just bring vengeance.'

 **AN: And victory to King Renly. A Farosi force is crushed in a deadly ambush and the Westerosi have captured some three thousand rifles. Sam is granted his baptism in blood while the daughters of the True Queen ensure that the fallen make their final voyage.**

 **So, this chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you loved reading it. Since Renly is smart enough to know that fighting the Farosi in a regular pitched battle is difficult at best he has had to get creative with how he will win this war which I tried to demonstrate here.**

 **Return next time for an update in King's Landing. Please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter, I adore reading feedback.**

 **Review Response:**

 **Stannis the Mann: Yeah I liked House Forrester and I felt that it was the smartest thing for Arya to do, claiming to be a member of that house. Thanks for your review and I hope you liked this one. Have agreat day.**


	11. Chapter 11

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

Chapter Eleven

What Man am I?

The relaxing music danced around the courtyard, gliding amongst those who were drinking and eating while those who occupied the centre of the space, embraced in their dances, moved slowly with the music. Jon was amongst them, in his arms was Radwen, dressed in the same wonderful gown she had worn on the night of their first kiss. It was their third dance that night, a last celebration before they would march out to battle the next day. Those who were not dancing stood at the side, drinking and joking, nearby he heard a group of officers laughing at a joke which sounded like "Which princess is this war named after. Her Highness Radwen or Renly?"

'I think I need a rest,' Radwen said as the music came to an end. 'My feet are killing me.'

'Me too,' he told her. 'I can't stand these formal boots.'

Radwen looked down at Jon's polished boots for formal events and then back at him.

'Are they pinching?'

'A lot.'

'Then let's sit down.'

The two of them walked away, through the crowded courtyard, filled with Farosi officers in their dress uniform, most of them accompanied by highborn Westerosi women. One stood by himself though, the Hound, Sandor Clegane, having recovered mostly from the wounds he took defending King Joffrey he had decided to join the Constables, being made one of its officers. The man, with his horrible scars, just stayed in the shadows of the courtyard, glaring at anyone who came too close unless they were carrying a drinks tray. Jon then looked across the courtyard where he could see Colonel Donnah speaking with Brigadier Curn, both of them there to keep up appearances but Jon knew that they were planning on what they would do for the coming battle against the Lannister's. Considering how heavily outnumbered they were, the whole thing would need a lot of planning if it was going to succeed.

Soon Jon and Radwen found a bench at the edge of the courtyard and, after getting a glass of Dornish Red each from a passing waiter, Jon watched Radwen as she closed her eyes for a few moments, relaxing after what had been a busy day.

'You look beautiful,' he told her, not sure of what else to say.

'I should hope so. It me hours to get ready.'

'Why?'

'I have to make myself presentable,' she answered with a good tone of humour and pointed at her light brown hair which was arranged in numerous braids before falling down her back in one large braid the width of Jon's arm. 'This took most of the time.'

'How long is your hair anyway?'

'You don't know?'

'I've never seen your hair without it being tied up.'

'I suppose you haven't. Well, let's say I can comfortably sit on my hair without any problems.'

'Really?'

'You men just need to worry about keeping your beard line straight. It's a lot harder for us ladies.'

'It might be, but it makes you look good.'

'Thank you. I do admit, your beard line is also very straight.'

'I try my best with it.'

'You know, I think I would have finished getting ready sooner if I hadn't paid a visit to the Embassy earlier.'

'The Embassy? Why did you go there?'

'I thought I should give Her Grace a brief hello.'

'Radwen, you know you shouldn't even talk to that bitter woman.'

'Actually it was quite fun. I went in there and she was being her usual self, acting like she was on a throne on top of a mountain, pretending not to care I was there. That's when I told her that her father's marching on this city.'

'And that got her interested?'

'Of course it did. She then went on and bragged about how soon I will be locked up in the Black Cells while you'd be forced to join the Nights Watch.'

'She enjoys bragging doesn't she?'

'Oh she does. After we had a brief debate on the importance of numbers in war she went on a spiel about how we're going to destroy Westeros.'

'She's an idiot.'

'To be honest, if she had kept her son on the throne I wouldn't be surprised if they would go down the path of Gwaithol and face a revolution.'

'I feel sorry for Gwaithol's last king,' Jon shared with her. 'He was a bad king from what I've read but a good man.'

'I agree. Still, with us in charge, Westeros will have schools, farms, factories within ten years. I can't wait to get started.'

'You don't want to go home when this is all over?'

'After we get married we'll have to head back to Farsos to do a royal tour, you know, show off the married couple to the people.'

'It makes sense. I miss it a bit as well.'

'Ne too, but we'll still be in charge of modernising Westeros, there'll be railways to build town to build, factories to build, a Senate to build.'

'We'll have a lot of building to do.'

'And I can't wait. We'll oversee the rebuilding an entire society on a scale that's never been done before.'

'It's going to be a lot of work.'

'Not when it's shared between two of us,' was her response, so heartfelt, spoken so gently, and Jon adored her at that moment.

He didn't see a princess, he saw a young woman who truly looked forward to what would be her legacy, who was excited to a future which was brighter than the sun. There were many times when she had talked about her plans for the future of Westeros so passionately and her eyes almost looked like they would shed tears.

Then Jon remembered the one great barrier between them, the secrets he had been keeping from her. Earlier that day he had been speaking with Ser Barristan, he had made it a habit to talk to the old knight whenever he could. Ser Barristan again told him that the fewer the people who know the truth of his ancestry the safer he would be. If he couldn't trust the woman he had been spending so much time with, the woman who was engaged to, then who could he trust?

'What's wrong?' she asked, noticing that his smile had vanished as his mind drifted elsewhere.

'The battle,' he answered, in truth he was concerned about it.

'You're actually worried?'

'Slightly. I know we have better weapons but Tywin Lannister is one of the realms most feared commanders.'

'I have faith in Brigadier Curn.'

'I have faith in this,' said Jon and patted the hilt of his sword.

'Boys and their toys,' she chuckled before her expression became slightly more serious. 'Still, are you sure there isn't anything else that's bothering you?'

'Well, there is something,' he answered, after a moment of consideration. It was wrong to keep this secret from her. 'I think we need some privacy.'

'Alright then,' she responded and stood up. 'I just need to make a speech first.'

'Go ahead.'

So Radwen held her empty glass and picked up a spoon from one of the servants which she clanged against the glass a few times to grab everyone's attention. In seconds the courtyard was silenced, and all eyes turned to Radwen.

'Ladies and gentlemen, tonight it has been an honour to drink with you. Soon, you will march to battle, and you will crush Tywin Lannister and his mob. When your victory comes, you will celebrate your victory and forever after, you will all be remembered as heroes of Farsos and Westeros. We do not come as conquerors, but as liberators. We are here to save these people for the tyranny which has ruled them for centuries. We bring wealth and strength for them. For the Crown, the Senate and the People of Farsos!'

'Crown, Senate and People!' everyone declared and raised up their glasses, Jon included.

After her brief speech Jon and Radwen discretely left the courtyard and made their way through the castle back to Radwen's chambers which, thankfully, were empty of the servants which kept it tidy when Radwen left.

'They must have finished early,' she said to herself as they entered and sat down together on one of the couches, for a few moments silence hung between them, as Jon built up the nerve to tell her the truth.

'Radwen, since we first kissed, these weeks have been the happiest of my life.'

'When did you become a poet?' she jokingly asked.

'I never did, I'm just being honest. When you said that we should get married I honestly didn't know what to think, I mean, I never imagined marrying someone like you, a princess, a future queen. With everything that's happened I think, I think that now you need to know the truth.'

He tried to guess her feelings, her expression had changed from the one she usually had while alone with him had changed to that which she wore while on the Iron Throne.

'What truth?' she asked, no emotion in her voice.

'When, you sent me to try to convince Lord Stark to join us, he told me then that he wouldn't.'

'What?' she asked, her tone quickly turning to anger. 'You knew that he would support Renly? That he wouldn't fight for Farsos?'

'I'm sorry Radwen but I had no choice. He had sworn an oath to Renly, my father never breaks his word, ever.'

'He did once before,' Radwen spat at him. 'When he slept with someone who wasn't his wife!' After she said it Radwen seemed to realise the venom in her words and forced herself to calm down. 'Jon, you didn't just commit treason, you lied to me. To me.'

'A lot happened and I couldn't let anyone whose blood I shared come to harm.'

'Alright. I understand why you did it but you are a Farosi officer! You have a duty to the crown. If Colonel Donnah finds out I won't be able to protect you.'

'There's more.'

'Oh joy. What else have you been keeping from me?'

'There's a secret, Radwen, that only a few people in all of Westeros, in all the world, know. Roberts Rebellion, it was all built on a lie.'

'What lie? Jon, what have you been hiding from me?'

'Lyanna Stark, she wasn't abducted by Prince Rhaegar, she went with him willingly.'

'She did?' the look on her face was full of surprise. 'So in other words your father, King Robert and all the others fought a bloody war because two people didn't let anyone know their plans?'

'I suppose that's right. When,' he shook his head before going on, 'when Lord Stark found his sister at the Tower of Joy, she was dying and with her was a baby.'

Jon realised that he hadn't been looking at Radwen as he told her of this. When he turned his gaze on her, she was just looking at him as if she was looking at a stranger she had never known before today. Her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were wide.

'You. It was you?'

'Yes. Lord Stark said that I was his bastard to protect me from King Robert.'

'But, all of this. Oh True Queen, it changes everything. What does it make you? I know the Targeryon's sometimes married more than one woman but, did he marry Lyanna? Are you a true son or a bastard by a different man?'

'I don't know, Radwen. I don't know if they were married or not by my father was Prince Rhaegar.'

'And everything's been ruined.'

'The point of me marrying you was to symbolise the joining of Farsos and Westeros. Not just that though, but I was to marry a nobleman to make it clear that House Cassius would rule this country. But, you're the last living son of Rhaegar, you could, you could claim the Iron Throne for yourself.'

'But that doesn't matter.'

'Yes it does. With your claim how long will it be until you demand the right to control everything in Westeros and push me aside?'

'You can't be serious,' Jon couldn't believe she had brought that up. Of course he knew that Radwen was worried that she wouldn't be able to rule, she had turned down past proposals because she thought those men would try to make her just a wife and not a queen.

'Of course I'm serious. I don't want to hear anymore of this. Get out.'

'But Radwen.'

'Do you want me to call my guards?'

The two stood there, eyes locked, neither one willing to drop their argument. Jon knew better to keep it going though so he walked the few steps to the door but before leaving he looked to her one more time, her glare filled with so many emotions at war with each other.

'I told you because I don't know if I'll still be alive in a few days. If I die, I'll die knowing that I don't have any secrets left.'

He then left, after closing the door Jon stood there for a moment, hoping that she might come and tell him to stay but all he heard was a low sob from inside and he wanted to go to her, he so much wanted to go in there and comfort her but right now that would be the last thing she would want, she would never want to be seen vulnerable, she couldn't allow it. She was to be a queen and queens were not meant to be vulnerable.

For a while Jon wondered through the castle alone, its halls empty, everyone at the courtyard or in the feasting rooms, the servants, he was aware, were all helping with the party and most of the soldiers, except for the few on guard duty, were down in the city either getting drunk or going to the brothels. At one point he considered going to see Ser Barristan but he didn't want to disturb the old man, he was probably in bed by now. Eventually he found himself in the chamber given over to his Troopers for the barracks and, with nothing else to do, he went in to find the place mostly empty, except for Corporal Donley with Troopers Hensin, Moory and Tilson, sitting around a low table playing cards and it looked like Hensin was winning, a stack of Queen notes stacked right next to him.

'Sir,' Donley said and stood up at once, saluting Jon, as did the others.

'Gentlemen,' he responded, walking past the row of bunkbeds towards them. 'Why are you still here.'

'Erm,' Hensin responded awkwardly. 'Well, we were together in the city when we got into some trouble so we decided to come back here and play cards.'

'What type of trouble?'

'It's a bit embarrassing sir,' Donley explained.

'You got thrown out of a brothel, didn't you?' he asked.

The three of them looked at each other and nodded guiltily to which Jon rolled his eyes.

'Just don't do it again,' he answered and walked straight to his own room at the back of the barracks.

'Are you alright sir?' Donley asked him.

'Just don't disturb me unless it's a crisis,' he answered and closed his door behind him, leaving him alone in his room, except for Ghost who was still in his own bed, lightly sleeping.

Without waking the wolf, Jon hung up his sword and sat down on his bed, just thinking over his choice to tell her. He just couldn't bear the thought of going into battle without telling her the truth, of being killed after lying to her all this time. He didn't know how much time passed when there was a knock on the door.

'Who is it?' he asked.

'Captain Lowhill wants to see you sir,' answered Donley's voice. 'Here's here now.'

'Send him in then,' Jon answered and stood up, straightening his uniform as the door opened and his captain entered his room. 'Sir,' he said and saluted him.

Lowhill closed the door and looked at Jon for a moment before shaking his head.

'What happened?'

'Sir?'

'Radwen left the party with you and came back alone, her makeup changed and she looked as angry as a starving animal.'

'We had a,' he didn't know what to call it, 'we had a disagreement.'

'What goes on between ma and woman is private,' he said and nodded his head. 'But Princess Radwen is not any woman.'

'Sir, I didn't want to upset her.'

'I know you didn't but whatever ruined things between you, don't let it last. When will you ever get a chance at a woman like Radwen again?'

The way he said it did make Jon laugh and Lowhill allowed himself to chuckle as well.

'To be honest, I don't think it was just whatever you said.'

'How did you know I said it?'

'Look, when it comes to women it's always the mans fault somehow. Take it from a man with four children, I know how it all works. Like I was saying, it isn't just what you said to her, this morning we got news from Oldtown, a brigade of our troops was destroyed by King Renly, three thousand or more gone.'

'How?'

'Samwell Tarly was seen after the battle with Renly.'

The silence hung heavy in the air, Jon worried that his captain suspected the truth.

'If, if Sam's fighting for Renly, he can show him all of our strategies and tactics.'

'That's what I was thinking. Princess Radwen decided not to tell everyone to preserve morale.'

'She's right. If Renly could beat us, so could the Lannisters.'

'And whatever happened between you two just made things worse for Her Highness. I know you're not happy about this, I know Tarly was your friend, but he is now on the wrong side of this war. Get some sleep, at dawn we march to Rosby.'

…

As the sun rose across Westeros, as it did every morning, everyone saw it in different ways. Tywin Lannister looked out across his encampment as his soldiers awoke, ready to continue their march. Lord Stark looked upon Moat Cailin with tired eyes, knowing that he would soon face the Ironborn in battle. King Renly stood watching as his men trained with their newly captured rifles while others who could read looked over the instruction books for the artillery. Admiral Greenman, General Morsey and Private Hassan Corrin stood just outside of Oldtown, with all of the remaining Farosi soldiers and sailors in the city together in parade while a Priestess of the True Queen offered prayers to the dead. Jon Snow mounted his horse and looked at his men and then up towards Radwen who stood on a balcony, watching over all of them but her eyes never meeting his.

When it set, all of these people had moved, all of them were moving towards their destiny. All except one.

Sansa Stark, standing alone near the edge of the water of her rock in the sea. The sun was going down, its final, glorious golden rays bathing everything in golden light. It had been three days, her time was now, she would soon find out who it was, she would see who had helped her, who had sent her the food and saved her from starving to death in the middle of nowhere. Lady stood by her obediently, waiting with her, their benefactor was due very soon. That great golden orb was going down, setting behind the horizon. The sky turning purple and pink, growing steadily darker until, at last, the sun vanished, and everything began to turn dark.

 _Sansa_

She looked in every direction. Could that have been nothing more than the wind or was it her helper? Then there came another sound. Water moving, like a hand being moved through a tub or a stream coming around a bend.

'Where are you?' Sansa loudly asked her friend, hoping for an answer but the only one that came was her own echo.

Suddenly there was a roar by the waters edge and Sansa quickly stepped back as a hole appeared in the water, as if a door had been opened leading to a cellar and steps made from water itself formed leading down beneath the waves.

Sansa couldn't move, she couldn't do anything other than stare at this thing which should have been impossible, which couldn't be real. She was snapped out of this when the sounds of footsteps emerged from the hole in the water and Sansa battled against her fear, walking right to the edge of the rock to look down the steps, just as a figure, at last, emerged.

She was beautiful, there was no other word for her. The woman who emerged from the water was taller than Sansa by just over a foot at least, with long platinum coloured hair which reached her knees but was immaculately clean, eyes a blue so deep they were almost amethyst, her skin almost glowing and her figure clad in a grand dress made of what could only be hundreds of layers of the finest fabric, hundreds more strands of the see through material hung off of her, blowing in the wind, and sitting on the woman's head was a crown, silver and decorated with pearls, sapphires and sea shells.

Sansa descended to her knees, for how else could she react in the presence of what could only be a goddess?

'Sansa Stark,' the woman said, her voice gentle, with a powerful tone mixed with motherly authority. 'Do you know who I am?'

'No,' she answered.

'I saved you. I sent you to this rock so you would not drown. I saved your faithful beast as well and then I sent you food.'

'Why did you help me. Thank you for it all, but why?'

'You will learn in time my child. Now, come with me.'

'Where?'

'To my realm, beneath the depths of the deepest oceans.'

'You haven't told me your name.'

'A thousand years ago I was called Rella. Now, I am the True Queen.'

 **AN: I have been really nervous about this chapter, for obvious reasons. I hope the ending of this chapter isn't too much of a shark jumping moment (yes, I am going to use as many water puns as I can) but this was my plan for Sansa all along, to encounter the True Queen, the great Goddess of Farsos.**

 **As for Jon and Radwen, well, we'll see where this goes.**

 **Review Responses:**

 **The armed forces: I'm guessing you don't like Renly then. Thanks for the review.**

 **Lord Villarreal of House Grand: Yeah, I've always loved the idea of a fantasy world fighting against a Victorian like one which inspired this story. Thanks for your review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

 **See you all next time folks, the war is heating up so prepare for mayhem.**


	12. Chapter 12

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: Sorry about the delay but a mix of university work and other commitments pushed this back. I hope you will all enjoy it.**

 **Also, regarding Episode Three of Season Eight. Well, I loved it but it made me realise, how will the Farosi army deal with the Army of the Dead?**

Chapter Twelve

The Storm and the Fires

The village, North West of Moat Cailin, was a ruin. The collection of a dozen hovels were sitting together, their thatched roofs burned off and their contents strewn about the place. The smallfolk who lived there were all dead, their bodies had been strung up on the nearby trees. All of it the work of the Ironborn.

Ned Stark looked across this scene, his face barely containing his anger. These were his people and he had failed to protect them, he should never have gone south, he should have refused Robert's offer and stayed at Winterfell, then he could have been able to stop this from happening and Jon would still be here, not risking his life as a spy in that pigsty everyone liked to call a capital city.

As soon as he received word that the North had been attacked by the Ironborn he had led all of his soldiers from the North back home, placing the Tully forces in defensive positions in the Riverlands under the command of Blackfish and Edmure. Ned had to deal with the Ironborn threat quickly, bands of their raiders were rampaging across the North, sacking the villages and holds stripped of most of their defences for the war. Just as importantly, he wanted to get to Winterfell to make sure his youngest sons were alright, he was confident in the castle's defences but most of its soldiers were with him, only a small force remained. Now he was actually glad that he let Cat stay at Riverrun, he had wanted to send her home to be with their youngest sons and to be there to welcome back Sansa and Arya but now she was safe in her family's ancient home.

'Father,' Robb said as he walked towards him, wearing his armour and being followed by several men, at the back of the group was Theon Greyjoy who looked as if he wished he was invisible.

'Well?' he asked.

'We captured the Ironborn who attacked the village but the others who were trying to take Moat Cailin have retreated.'

'The second our cannons started firing they didn't want to stay,' Ned remarked. 'Where are your prisoners?'

'We locked them in a store room and put guards outside.'

'Find something to use as a chopping block.'

'Of course,' Robb said and sent some of the men to carry out his fathers orders.

'You fought well,' Ned said to him and grinned slightly.

'Thank you. I just want to get the Ironborn thrown out of our land.'

'As do I but remember that this is just one front of the war, we still need to worry about the Farosi.'

'Of course I know that. Everyone knows that.'

'The Ironborn attack has been a distraction.'

'Has it?'

'Of course it has. Now that we need to retake the North, our battle against the Farosi has had to be delayed. I'm just surprised that the Farosi would supply them with their weapons.'

'I don't think they did,' Robb explained and gestured to one of the riflemen nearby who was carrying his own weapon and one of the rifles the Ironborn had used in the fighting. The soldier approached them and Robb took the rifle and handed it to Ned. 'Look down the barrel and tell me what you see.'

Ned did so and saw the inside of the weapon, the spiralling grooves on the inside and numerous scuff marks left by the gunpowder.

'This needs cleaning,' he said and handed it back to Robb.

'That doesn't matter. Compare it to the rifle we took from the Ironborn.'

Ned looked down the barrel of the other weapon and saw that it was different in construction, slightly longer than the other and with a barrel completely smooth on the inside.

'There aren't any grooves in the barrel of this rifle.'

'Because it isn't a rifle.'

'What?'

'Rifles have the grooves on the inside, they twist the bullet like the fletching of an arrow, I think Jon said a man named Riflen came up with the idea. That weapon,' he pointed at the Ironborn one, 'is a musket.'

'A musket?'

'Yes, the Farosi stopped using them nearly twenty years ago.'

'So the Farosi have been giving them outdated weapons?'

'It's not just that,' he said and held up the rifle, pointing to a small brass square near the trigger, displaying the intricately carved letters D S. 'Every Farosi rifle has this on it, a makers mark for Donley and Sons Firearms Company. Look at the makers mark on that one.'

Ned studied the brass marking, in the musket located on the underside of the stock. Instead of D S it portrayed the carving of a crown snapped in half.

'That's the symbol of Gwaithol,' he said and then anger filled him. 'They are using this war as revenge against Farsos.'

'That's what I feared as well.'

'They have armed the Ironborn. How many of those here were armed with muskets?'

'Maybe half of them.'

'They outgun us.'

'A single rifle can outrange a musket greatly and is much more powerful. We still have the advantage.'

'At least we hope so.'

'Lord Stark,' one of their men said and nodded his head. 'We have the block ready.'

'Bring out the prisoners. I'll deal with them now.'

Ned walked the short distance towards where the block had been set up, in the middle of the little village, ringed by his soldiers a twenty or so Ironborn, their hands bound together and their expressions bearing a mix of anger, defeat and fear.

'Bring their leaders forward,' he ordered and his men dragged three men in armour of higher quality than the others. 'The three of you ordered this village to be massacred, the women to be raped and the homes destroyed. Your men will be allowed to take the black, as for you three, two will die. You can choose.'

'They deserved it,' one of the officers spat. 'All you from the mainland are all weak, if they actually fought for their lives they'd still be here.'

'If you had never come they'd still be here. Choose which of you lives and dies.'

'Me,' another said and grinned as he stepped forwards. 'I'm not scared of death.'

'Kill him,' another said and pointed at the one who had bragged about the weakness of Northerners. 'It was his idea to kill everyone here.'

'No it wasn't,' he said back.

Ned silenced the two bickering men with a look.

'You two will die,' Ned told them and his men dragged them off towards the block, both kicking and screaming as they did.

When the remaining officer started laughing Ned advanced on his and grabbed him by the throat.

'You will be given a horse, you will go back to your people and you will tell them that I am coming for them. They better make ready and it doesn't matter how many Gwaitholi muskets they have. The North will triumph.'

He then threw the man to the ground before he was taken away by a soldier towards a horse and Ned progressed towards the block, which was I reality a barrel that one of the Ironborn was now being held down on while his companion tried to escape his own fate but couldn't beat the several men holding him. Ned drew Ice from its sheath and looked down at the first of the officers.

'Is there anything you want to say before you die?'

'Fuck you!'

Ned raised the sword and brought it down, the Valyrian blade slicing through bone and flesh as if it was butter and almost cutting through the barrel if he hadn't shown restraint. Just after the headless corpse was pushed off the other officer was pushed onto the barrel and Ned readied his sword.

'Is there anything you want to say before you die?'

'You're an ugly cunt!'

Ned resisted the urge to roll his eyes and just brought the sword down, slicing off his head and this time taking half the barrel with him. He then walked straight towards the other prisoners and cleared his throat.

'Your leaders were killed, for they were the ones who ordered these crimes to be done. You did not order it, but you did as they commanded and are just as guilty. Each of you must make a choice. Step forward and you will be allowed to take the Black and be escorted to the Wall to serve as sworn brothers of the Nights Watch and earn repentance through a life of service, protecting the people you sought to plunder and rape. Those who refuse will be hanged. Make your choice.'

About two thirds of them stepped forward, some quickly but some after a few moments to consider the choice. The remaining few stood there, anger in their eyes.

'You will be hanged and serve as a warning to the rest of your people. This is the North, and when you raid our shores and kill our people the only fate you will receive is death.'

Of course when they were hanged Ned kicked the logs they had been standing on out from under their feet himself. Although he was not swinging the sword he was carrying out the execution, it was his duty. Done with this task he planned to walk back to the tent erected in the heart of his armies camp for him but after only going a short distance he realised that he was being followed. He looked over his shoulder to see Theon walking towards him, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped.

'What do you want, Theon?' he asked him.

'I wanted to talk to you.'

'Very well. Come on.'

The two continued through the camp for a few moments as he waited for Theon to say what was on his mind.

'What we just saw, it's just that, when I was a boy on the Iron Islands we sung songs and told stories of the Old Way, when the Ironborn raided the coastline from the Mander to the Frozen Shore. We celebrated the great warriors and captains who led their crews onto the mainland, burnt castles and took captives back to the Iron Islands. Those stories, they were always good and we cheered at them but now.'

'But now you've seen what the songs left out.'

He nodded his head, his eyes not meeting Neds.

'All these people, they were killed for no reason. I killed at the Field of Smoke but they were soldiers, they had weapons, they were trained but these people, they were just farmers.'

'I'm glad you can see that. When I offered to take you as my ward I did it not just to spare you from being sent off to live with someone like Tywin Lannister. I did it because I wanted you to see the truth, that the Old Way is nothing but an excuse for violence and plunder. They pretend to be warriors but are no different from brigands, that must end.'

'And it will,' Theon told him, finally showing determination in his words. 'When this war is over, and we bring my father to justice, I will stop my people from ever doing this again. The Old Way is dead, it's about time we bury it forever.'

'Good,' Ned said and grinned so slightly at the boy he had brought to Winterfell and had become a man. 'You are a better man than your father.'

'Lord Stark,' one of his soldiers said as he approached them, a piece of paper in his hand, clearly a message from a raven, 'we just received this.'

'Thank you,' he said and took it, instantly recognising Maester Luwin's hand.

 _Lord Stark, a group of Ironborn attacked Winterfell this morning, they had rifles and were led by a Farosi. The breached the entrance courtyard but our men beat them back. We remain under siege. Your sons are safe but Ser Rodrick believes we need reinforcements at once. Please aid us, I do not know how long we can hold.'_

As soon as he read it he knew what he had to do.

'We divide our forces,' he declared. Two thirds of our men will move to Barrowton and on to Torrhen's Square and relieve them. I will lead the rest straight up the King's Road to Winterfell.'

'Why?' Theon asked him so Ned handed him the letter. 'Gods no.'

…

'The first rank will kneel!' Sam shouted as loud as he could, his own voice causing him pain as he looked at the "riflemen" he was expected to train. After Renly's victory over the Farosi he had ordered all of their firearms to be collected and now Sam was training just over four thousand men as riflemen. 'The second rank and third rank will remain standing. At the command "Take aim" the first rank will aim at the enemy. On top of the rifles you will find two leaf shaped sights, one for a range of five hundred yards, the other for three hundred yards. Use those sights if you want to shoot your enemy.'

After he had been put in charge of training them he had selected twenty other men who he trained himself and then put them in charge of assisting him, making them the riflemen's officers and giving them the revolvers they captured. The force was organised into companies of two hundred men.

'When the first rank fires they will begin to reload. The second rank will then obey the command to take aim. Upon their officers orders they will fire. The third rank will do the same. The Farosi can fire three times a minute, I expect you to at least manage two a minute.'

He then walked towards the side of the formation, this company lined up in the three rank formation, their officer, Ser Folin Amber, began to issue commands as the men prepared to fire at the line of scarecrows in front of them, three hundred yards away.

'First rank kneel! Take aim! Fire!'

The soldiers followed the orders and as soon as the crack of fire was over they quickly began to reload.

'Second rank, take aim! Fire!'

Again the followed the order and began to reload as Sam kept an eye on his pocket watch, they were keeping up with the planned time so far, good.

'Third rank, take aim! Fire!'

The bullets flew through the air and Sam kept his eyes on the watch. It had been thirty seconds as the first rank prepared to fire again. Once all three ranks had fired after a full minute past he nodded, they had just kept up the rate of fire.

'Well done men,' he said as he walked towards the scarecrows to check how accurate the fire had been.

There were holes in the grass where the bullets had hit the ground. The legs and arms had holes as well, the chests had been struck in many cases but far to many of the bullets had missed.

'How did they do?' asked Ser Folin.

'They need to improve their aim,' he answered.

'Damn. But a leg wound will still put a man out of the battle.'

'I know, but we need to land as many kills as possible.'

'Do we have enough shot and powder to keep training the men?'

'Shot is easy, we just need lead. The powder though, it can be made but the stuff our men have been making is poor quality at best. We'll need to capture as much as we can from the Farosi.'

'Ser Samwell.'

He looked to see King Renly approaching him on horseback, his expression grim which was unusual. Since their victory he had been very upbeat as he gathered his forces to march on Oldtown.

'Your Grace. What's the matter?'

'We have a problem. Lord Stark has decided to march north instead of on King's Landing.'

'Good. He can deal with the Ironborn.'

'No it isn't. He's being distracted and I've sent a raven to tell him to focus on the real war and he can deal with those robbers later.'

'I see,' Sam responded but in truth he disagreed with the man. Lord Stark had to help his people, he had to protect his people or he'd loose the support of his bannermen.

'Anyway, I want the men ready to move in seven days, our spies say that Farosi reinforcements have begun to arrive.'

'Then we must strike now.'

'Exactly. Good luck Samwell.'

…

The flute's music drifted through the warm night air, the camp fires crackled as the wood burned while men checked their weapons for the battle the next day. Jon sat on a stool by his troops fire, looking into the faces of his men he had known for a year now, no, over a year. He met them two days after graduating from Whitestone Academy and the day before departing for Westeros. They had all been lined up on the parade ground, their uniforms freshly cleaned, buttons shining and their horses freshly groomed. To be honest, that had been the most terrifying moment in Jon's life, meeting the men who would count on him and who he would count on. Now, he knew all their faces, Trooper Hensin, who was playing the flute, not doing any real tune, instead just letting the music echo his thoughts, he remembered how well the man had spoken before King Robert once, telling the truth of what happened on the Trident in a time which felt like another life, Trooper Bonbin, with a ludicrously long moustache, Corporal Donley, reliable as ever, eating the last of his days ration of marching bread and Sergeant Osoni, his trusted second in command, was writing in his leather bound diary.

'How many battles have you been in sir?' Donley asked Osoni.

'Four,' he answered. 'I was at Morok, Belin's Hill, Corinno and Pyke.'

'Don't you think the riot counted as a battle?'

'No it bloody wasn't. A real battle's what we'll be dealing with tomorrow.'

'How many of them are there?' asked Trooper Harley, a skinny man whose uniform hung off him. 'How many Lannister's I mean.'

'Thirty thousand,' Jon told him. 'Give or take a few thousand.'

'Do we have a chance?' asked Bonbin.

'Of course we do,' Osoni said with a grin. 'At best they've got a few shotguns.'

'And numbers,' Bonbin added. 'We barely have eight thousand.'

'I don't trust the constables,' said Trooper Moory. 'Back when they were Gold Cloaks I saw some of them taking bribes from smugglers.'

'They wouldn't dare betray us,' Jon reassured him. 'Not with the MP's watching them.'

'I think we'd best write our last letters,' Osoni told them. 'Just in case.'

The usual custom of the Farosi was, on the eve of battle, to write a letter to your loved ones in case you didn't survive. Osoni reached into his kit bag and pulled from within it sheets of paper and envelopes, as the sergeant it was his job to keep them with him. Jon looked at the paper he had been given and, holding his fountain pen over the cream coloured sheet, he wondered who he should write to. Lord Stark or Robb? How would they even get it to them. Maybe Lady Stark, just so he could tell her that her husband had been concealing the truth from her all these years and she had been cruel for no reason. For a moment he was truly tempted to do just that but decided against it, she just wasn't worth the effort. He looked at Ghost who was laying nearby on the ground, eating some corned beef lumps that the men had been giving him out of their own rations. Ghost had his own food but everyone gave him treats anyway.

'Who are you writing to?' Jon asked Osoni.

'My daughter,' he answered. 'Well, the oldest one anyway.'

'How many do you have?'

'Three sir. Three girls and I'm telling you, when you and Her Highness start with children, get ready for a barrage of dresses and toys.'

'It's strange, we've known each other all this time but you never told me about them.'

'You always just focused on your work sir.'

'It seems pointless worrying about that now.'

'I suppose you're right sir. My oldest, Relka, she got married last year, just before we headed off for Westeros.'

'Is the husband a good man?'

'Not bad but she could have done better. He's a captain in the Unionton Police. The other girls, Tenee and young Helan, she's, oh by the Queen, she's only just finished school.'

Jon remembered that Osoni had mentioned his wife once before, having died three years earlier. Thee tough man reached into his coat and pulled out of it a small ambrotype in a steel case, a type of photograph on a piece of glass.

'Here are my girls,' he said and handed it to Jon.

The image was of the three daughters, all of them clearly his, they all their fathers prominent nose.

'You should be proud.'

'I am. You should hear little Helan, she's already planning on becoming a teacher.'

'I hope this doesn't sound like I was listening in sir,' said Donley, 'but if we're sharing pictures,' he pulled a folded photograph out of his pocket and showed it to Jon and Osoni, showing a girl a few years younger than Donley on it.

'Very nice if I say so myself,' Osoni chuckled. 'What's her name?'

'Ranea. We're getting married when we next go home.'

'Good for you lad. She's a bonny looking girl.'

'She certainly is. A bit of a handful but I love her.'

'You know, Mister Snow,' Osoni began, 'I envy you sometimes. The woman you're marrying isn't halfway around the world.'

'I suppose I am lucky,' he answered, looking into the fire.

'I'm going to bed,' said Trooper Bonbin. 'I'm bloody knackered after working on the breastworks today.'

As he stood up to head towards the tent he was going to sleep in, and Jon thought about heading to his own tent when a tune suddenly filled the air. All eyes turned towards Hensin who was playing the flute again, this time to a normal tune that they all knew. A few of the men began to sing along.

The Wind howled on the Morning.

Across the Sea on that Morning.

And yet at dawn, our Bonny Girl Did.

Look one last time on her Home.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

She stepped alone in the Streets.

Across the streets of her Home.

And her guards bowed down when they saw her

The Duchess knew doom was at Hand

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

The Unicorn flew alone.

For the final Time.

So the young Duchess mounted her Horse.

To save her people and kin.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

The Tiger Horde was too close

Her armies were fleeing

So she turned her gaze to the East.

To the King Across the Mountains.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

His eyes glowed like flames.

His beard as black as night.

And his armies were so large.

He marched under the griffon.

But above all he wanted the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

Their wedding was small

There was so little time

For the Tigers were coming close

The Great Battle was here

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

The battle was so long

But the great day was won

Though the King fell that day.

And left his Queen with a son.

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera.

So the Queen left her Home.

And travelled to First Sight.

Where she carried her babe.

She was the mother of King Fornos

But above all she was the Bonny Girl from Serdera

And the Queen of Faros.

As the men began to repeat the old tune Jon thought about the story, the Duchess and the King, he remembered that great painting of them back at the Embassy, he had seen it on the night of the ball, when he had first kissed Radwen. He looked back at the paper in his hand and began to write.

 **AN: Anyway, I was looking forward to writing this chapter, especially the ending part. Writing that song was probably the hardest part of writing this chapter, I've never written a song before so let me know what you think.**

 **So, please review, let me know what you think.**

 **Have a great day all of you.**


	13. Chapter 13

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: I am so sorry this took so long but I swear it was hard to write and I loved doing it. I truly hope you enjoy reading this and please let me know what you think.**

Chapter Thirteen

The Battle of Rosby

Radwen was sitting in her study, she refused to call it a solar like the Westerosi did, as Captain Howmer of the Royal Guard, wearing his purple uniform without the black armour the Royal Guard were famous for. He was holding a stack of papers which Radwen would look at, she had a lot of work to do and recently she had been letting it stack up.

'Next, Your Highness, is the request from the Smith's Guild for permission to manufacture muskets for the Constables. There's a memorandum from Colonel Donnah that we should refuse this for security reasons.'

'Agreed,' she answered as the paper was handed to her and she slammed the rubber stamp with the word "Refused" onto it, the red ink staining the paper with that one word and she put it on the large pile of "Refused" papers, much larger than the accepted paper.

'This one is from Farsos itself, a congratulations on your engagement to Lieutenant Snow from the Women's Suffrage Society.'

She looked at the paper and quickly wrote a reply.

 _Thank you for your kind words._

 _Yours Faithfully, Princess Radwen of Farsos._

She placed that on the pile of letters to be sent out.

'Isn't that reply brief?' Howmer asked her.

'It is and you know my policy towards the WSS.'

'Avoid them as if they were Stone Men?'

'Exactly.'

'In that case, we have one last document.'

'Damn.'

'I thought you'd be glad to be finished.'

'Normally I would but I just want to stay busy right now.'

'You could inspect my men if you want.'

'The last thing they'd want is to stand in the sun for an hour as I look at their rifles.'

'If you want, you could tell me what's been bothering you.'

'It's private.'

'No offence, but no matter concerning you or your family is a private matter.'

She looked at the man, he was an aristocrat, a younger son of a Serderian noble who chose a military career over the civil service which most Serderian nobility pursued, joining the Royal Guard. He had been assigned as the commander of her personal guard company soon after she was made heir to the throne when she was thirteen. She truly envied him in that moment, his freedom to do what he wanted, to be free.

'I had an argument with Mister Snow on the night of the party.'

'What sort of argument? Did he hurt you?'

'No,' she responded, annoyed at the suggestion. 'Mister Snow never laid a finger on me.'

His expression in response to that spoke of a witty comment he was trying to not let out.

'Well, he never tried to hurt me at least,' she clarified. 'Or dishonour me or insult me or cause me harm in anyway.'

'Then why are you so annoyed at him?'

'Because he's so bloody honourable.'

'Radwen,' he said, one of the rare times he used her first name, 'after all these years you know I can't stand that language.'

'I'm sorry Howmer. What he said to me, it made me so angry, that he could keep something from me,' she felt the tears building up behind her eyes, 'that he could lie to me and when he tells the truth he only did it so he wouldn't go to his grave with lies on his lips. He hurt me by trying to be good to me. How am I meant to deal with that?'

'I don't know,' Howmer said and walked towards Radwen, outing a comforting hand on her shoulder. 'Should I send for a cup of tea?'

She nodded her head as she wiped away the few tears which escaped her eyes. After he told one of the servants outside the door to bring up tea he returned and Radwen waited for him to speak.

'Well, Your Highness, I know you want him.'

'In what way?'

His response was certainly not what she was expecting.

'I know you want to marry him, and it wasn't just for his noble blood.'

'How do you know that I didn't propose to him because I just had to do it? I had to do my duty to the crown.'

'No. If you were just doing your job you'd have proposed to anyone else. You went for Jon because he's a young man who's actually handsome.'

'I'm a princess, my own preferences don't matter.'

'You're a seventeen year old girl.'

'Who happens to be the heir to the Emerald Throne.'

'And when you were declared heir and I was put in command of your personal guard, Queen Radina asked that I make sure you are actually allowed to live before you take the throne yourself. You saw a young man with a promising career, who was close to your age and has good enough looks who just matched with your fathers instructions to marry a Westerosi nobleman. Listen to a man who has been through love and lived to tell the tale, don't let this little argument ruin your future.'

'I must seem,' she said before stopping to think about her next words. 'I must seem to be terribly petty.'

'Not at all.'

'Don't lie to me Howmer. I've always been like this; even small problems are turned into disasters in my mind. Once I tore a beautiful petticoat I received for my seventh birthday and I was terrified what my mother would say when she found out. In the end she wasn't bothered at all by it.'

'No wonder you got so angry that Lieutenant Snow did whatever he did, if you panicked at tearing your underwear.'

'It's stupid of me to act like this.'

'No it isn't. You are you, Snow is Snow. He's a man who can keep himself stable, you have been raised to be a queen. You'll be fine together.'

'I hope you're right.'

Just then there was a knock at the door.

'This will be the tea,' Howmer said before looking towards the door. 'Enter.'

Instead of a servant with their drinks there was a private of the Royal Guard who bowed to them before speaking.

'Your Highness, Captain, we have received word from Brigadier Curn. He has engaged the Lannister army.'

Radwen looked at the man and then down at the floor, hoping that it would all turn out alright, that Jon would come back, just so their last words together wouldn't be those of spite.

…

Brigadier Curn sat on his horse, his field glasses held up to his eyes at the top of the hill as he watched the Lannister forces form up for battle. Through his powerful lenses he studied the enemy formations, the cavalry was divided into three forces, one on each flank and one in the rear, the rear one had the main Lannister banner marking the likely place Lord Tywin was positioned. The infantry were formed into numerous columns, each one numbering several thousand men but some had converged together to form a single wide column, likely their first wave.

The location he and Donnah, who was next to him on his own horse, chose to fight on was excellent for defence, a hill with two sides to steep to easily advance up and the north side gentle, forcing an attacker to move up that gentle slope. On the steep slopes Curn had positioned spiked obstacles which made it difficult for an infantry attack and impossible for cavalry.

'What do you think?' Curn asked Donnah, the old man dressed in his usual heavy black clothes and leather coat which should have made any normal man sweat.

'I think the Lannister's are sending in their only men with firearms in first to pin down our riflemen while their light infantry launch an attack on our breastworks followed by an overwhelming infantry assault on our front line.'

'Exactly what I was thinking. The best response will be cannister shot and volley fire.'

'What about their cavalry?'

'They would never be able to get past our breast works.'

'I hope you're right. Will we begin?'

'No, let Tywin Lannister think he still has control of the war, let him think we're a timid little force scared to move off a hill. Well, that and I never enjoyed being the first to dance at a ball.'

'Very well.'

'I'm glad my plan meets your approval, _Colonel._ '

'You should be,' was his response. 'My report to the High Inquisitor on your conduct of the war will depend on the result of this battle.'

'Why does Inquisitor Borsin want a report?'

'Because our armies should be marching on Highgarden, instead they're licking their wounds and digging trenches around some nowhere town called Watsend.'

'Your point, Colonel?'

'That unless we start getting results, there will be some job changes in the army.'

'We both know that we will soon have results. If you hadn't,' he stopped speaking as a Troop of Light Horse, lead by Lieutenant Snow and his wolf, rode past quickly towards their position. When they were out of earshot he continued. 'If you hadn't decided to bring Operation Shattered Crown up so early we'd have had enough men to properly conduct this war.'

'Perhaps. However, my own concerns are for the greater good of the kingdom, not just for the army. You are a trained officer, do your job and find a way of fighting even when the odds are against you. Now, I will recheck the Constables, if they're going to betray us, I have my men positioned right behind them with Hand Bombs.'

Donnah rode away then towards the Constables and Curn was truly glad he was alone now, alone except for the bugler and half a dozen mounted messengers just out of earshot of a whispered conversation. He didn't want to admit it but that man, and the Military Police in general, made him feel uneasy.

Suddenly a horn or a trumpet was blown from the Lannister side of the battlefield that unmistakable sound filled the air. Marching boots.

The battle had begun.

'Both guns will begin to fire cannister shot when the enemy is within range,' he stated and two riders rode off towards the guns. 'The infantry will fire at will when in range.'

Two more riders galloped towards the frontline with the orders to the officers. As he waited for the enemy to enter range he watched the enemy advance through his field glasses. As they came closer he saw that they had adopted an unusually loose formation for the Westerosi, in fact, a number of them didn't look to be Lannister soldiers, instead wearing furs and crude leathers with little armour. Others wore the Lannister red but only carried bucklers and wore almost no armour.

'They must have learned,' he said to himself, remembering what he heard about the Kingslayer escaping from Robb Stark and his army.

…

The guns had been firing for a few minutes by the time the rifles fired. Jon and the rest of the regiment were on their horses behind the regular infantry who were lined up three ranks deep along the breastworks. With them were also the Constables and Military Police, their weapons ready in case they had to be sent into the battle.

'They're getting closer,' Trooper Hensin muttered nearby.

'Easy Trooper,' Osoni reminded him.

Each rank of infantry ahead of them fired before they went to the back and the rank behind stepped up to the rampart and fired.

'Mark your targets before you fire!' he heard someone shout somewhere.

The cannons fired again and this time he could just hear screams coming from the enemy ranks. There he decided that the worst thing about not being on the front lines was that he couldn't see what was going on.

The riflemen kept up their volley fire but eventually more shots filled the air, this volley as random, without orders of a volley and Jon saw small clouds of soil being kicked up from the rampart and a few men staggered off of the front line, clutching at wounds.

'Here they come,' someone behind Jon murmured.

…

The shotgunners kept firing as they moved closer towards the Farosi ramparts, each man would unleash both barrels and reload as they advanced amongst the large formation of light infantry, their small shields and little armour allowing them to move much faster than the regular infantry who were forming up behind them. Tyrion, Bronn right behind him, and his Hill Tribes were at the front of the attack. He had an axe in hand which he pointed towards the enemy while his men pushed through the hailstorm of Farosi bullets.

'Charge!' he declared again and rushed as fast as he could on his small legs towards the enemy.

This was the third attack that day, the early ones had been successful, their loose formation rendering the enemy volleys much less effective, until the men had reached the rampart. The ditch in front of the Farosi earth wall turned a shoulder height barrier into one almost twice as tall as a normal man. Tyrion, Bronn and the hill tribes hadn't been in the first two attacks but after hearing what they were facing, Tyrion explained a new plan to his father. They sent men back to Rosby to get sacks which they filled with soil and, hopefully, they would have enough to fill some parts of the enemy ditch allowing them to fight the Farosi at an equal level. After explaining the idea to his father, the man agreed under the condition that Tyrion himself lead the attack. Jaime, of course, volunteered to lead it but their father declared that Jaime would remain on the right flank while Tyrion would lead the attack.

'Shotgunners!' he shouted over the din of battle. 'Keep their rifles pinned down!'

'Keep shooting the bastards!' Bronn shouted louder and the men understood it, a volley of shotgun rounds raking across the Farosi ramparts.

'Now,' Tyrion declared, looking at the men carrying no weapons but each of them carrying a large sack full of soil. 'Fill their trench!'

They did as he said and rushed towards the Farosi rampart, the men with sacks would try to fill the trench on the right and in the centre. Tyrion of course saw some of these men being gunned down but others following them took up the sacks and continued the charge until they at last reached the trench, threw in their sack and then ran away as quickly as they could but many of them were shot.

'Bowmen,' Tyrion said and Bronn repeated the command.

At his command three hundred archers at the bottom of the hill let loose a cloud of arrows which smashed into the rampart, forcing the Farosi to duck for cover, buying time for the men with sacks to fill the trench. The archers and shotgunners kept shooting but the Farosi retuned fire, Tyrion seeing many of his men falling dead. Another sack entered the trench and now it was almost full to ground level and about fifteen feet across near Tyrion, he was on the flank of the attack.

'It's time!' he declared. 'Any of you who wants to show these foreigners why they should never have come here, charge over that wall!'

At that the hill tribes roared with all their might and led the attack, racing towards the filled up trench just as the Farosi behind the wall came to stand and fired, the first three lines of the tribesmen were mown down but the men behind them raced over the bodies, onto the sacks and threw everything they had against the ramparts. From Tyrion's position it was hard to see what was going on but he saw swords and axes being raised and brought down, spurts of blood shot up above the fighting and then, suddenly there was a rush as the tribes warriors rushed forwards.

'The rampart must have collapsed,' said Bronn.

'Good,' Tyrion responded and grabbed a nearby Lannister soldier by the shoulder. 'Go and tell my father it's time for the main attack!'

'Yes milord,' he answered and rushed off as fast as he could.

Tyrion held up his axe and rushed towards the fighting, knowing it was expected to lead the attack. Getting over the sacks was easy and, as Bronn concluded, the rampart had collapsed under the weight of hundreds of men pushing against it. There was a great thunder suddenly and Tyrion dropped to the ground as the closest cannon fired into the gap in the rampart. Tyrion and Bronn had been lucky, they'd been able to drop in time, but the light infantry behind them hadn't been as lucky. Over his shoulder he saw a dozen men torn into shreds by the many iron balls fired in one go.

Tyrion pushed himself up, gripped a tight hold on his axe and rushed to the closest Farosi who were fighting hand to hand with the tribesmen and other light infantry. The dwarf swung his axe through the leg of one man and then brought the axe down into his chest, killing the Farosi soldier while Bronn sliced his sword across the throat of one man and then ran another one through. With his axe Tyrion knocked a bayonet out of the way, the offending soldier was then killed by a spear to the neck by a nearby tribesman.

Needing to know what was happening Tyrion clambered onto the rampart, climbing over a dead Farosi and looked down to the bottom of the hill where, thankfully, he saw a massive column of Lannister troops advancing up the hill. Further along the rampart he saw that the other section of the trench had been filled in but the wall itself hadn't collapsed, Lannister troops had climbed over it and were fighting hard against the Farosi. Another cannon shot roared through the air and he saw the front of the Lannister column fall as one as they were torn apart.

'Charge you idiots,' he growled. 'Charge.'

…

It looked like the Lannisters had managed to cross the trench and get over the breast works. On the left flank they had even taken the rampart down and it was a mass brawl but in the centre it was an even fight, though it looked like a few of the enemy were pushing through.

'Snow to the right!' ordered Lowhill and Jon led his Troop that way, galloping along the length of the rampart, all along it Farosi soldiers fired down onto what Jon knew was the oncoming horde of Lannister infantry.

Ahead of him he could see the fighting, the Lannister soldiers, armed with swords and bucklers, had climbed over the rampart and had pushed through the ranks, some of them even getting all the way through and reforming on the Farosi side of the line. Jon stopped the men with a gesture from his hand and drew his revolver.

'Fire at will!' he ordered as his men drew their carbines and fired off at the enemy, cutting them down as they pushed through the Farosi lines.

Jon aimed his revolver and fired again and again until his cylinder emptied and then reloaded before firing again.

Suddenly there was a howl and Jon saw a white blur as Ghost charged into the fight, clamping his jaws around the throat of an enemy soldier.

'Give the white wolf a cheer, boys!' declared Trooper Bonbin.

…

'Bastards,' Curn cursed as he saw the Lannister infantry, who had just before been advancing up the hill in thick columns, now break up into much smaller units as they continued their advance. 'Have the artillery keep firing on the Lannister infantry.'

He looked through his field glasses and watched as the enemy drew closer and closer at a good pace. It wouldn't be long until it was time to commit the rest of his men.

…

With another shot of his revolver Jon saw the last of the Lannisters who had broken through the lines fall dead. The infantry retook the rampart and held the enemy back with bayonet work but now he saw that more heavily armoured Lannister soldiers had reached the lines. Now Jon was worried, even with their new leather jerkins the Farosi soldiers were much more lightly armoured than their enemies.

Suddenly there was a bugle call, two quick blasts, for the Light Horse, followed by a single long blast, this was the signal to rally.

'Back to the centre,' Jon ordered and led his men, Ghost with him as well, back towards the centre where other troopers who had been sent to plug gaps had rallied.

When Jon and his men had arrived and brought their horses to a stop, they saw Colonel Relini, the commander of the regiment, sitting on his horse, next to him was Lowhill and the other Captains.

'The 21st will retire to the rear of the lines!' Relini barked.

Of course his men began to grumble at the command. They were the Light Horse, a fast force which struck hard and fast, the rear of the line wasn't a place for that.

…

'Hurry!' Tyrion shouted over the fighting, still standing on the rampart and pointing his axe towards the enemy.

Fortunately, after several shots from the enemy guns, the Lannister infantry began to form into smaller units and quickly advance up hill. In hot weather, and heavy armour, they were tired after the advance, but once they were through the breach they quickly punched through the Farosi lines and, from where he stood, it looked like the plan was working, they were forcing the Farosi off the rampart near the breach and some of the men had even been able to push parts of the rampart into the trench, bridging the gap and making more space for the rest of the men to go over. There, standing amongst them, was a man far taller than any Farosi and not armed with a rifle but with a large two handed sword and instead of a hat he wore a helmet, a dog head shaped helmet. The Hound was there, leading some of these Farosi.

Suddenly there was a roar of gunfire and Tyrion snapped his gaze towards the source of the noise where he saw many of his men fall dead, in front of them four ranks of men in Farosi uniforms but wearing different hats, the first rank kneeling and reloading their rifles while the second rank was aiming.

'DOWN!' he shouted and jumped off his spot of the rampart as bullets filled the air and men screamed as they were torn apart.

'We need to get them before they reload!' Bronn shouted as another crack of firepower tore through the air and dozens of Lannister soldiers were cut down. 'Fuck that! We need to go.'

'I have to lead the attack.'

Another volley cracked through the air and Tyrion saw more of his men fall dead.

'You can command from somewhere else. You die, I stop getting paid. Come on!'

…

Curn grinned at the sight of it. In the one area where the Lannister's had torn down the rampart he had moved in the Constables and they were delivering solid volley fire into the enemy as they came through, cutting them down easily. In the other part of the line where they had gotten over the trench the Lannister's and his own men were fighting hard but the defences were holding.

'Send word to the artillery,' Curn ordered them. 'Loose ten rounds of cannister shot into the breach.'

'Yes sir,' a messenger responded and rode away to deliver the order.

He didn't even need his field glasses to see this. Moments after he gave the order he heard a cannon roar and suddenly a red cloud occupied the spot once taken by the Lannister's at the breach. Yet, even before the cloud had dispersed, more enemy soldiers filled the breach and the other cannon fired, eviscerating the new group of soldiers as the Constables fired another volley. With some trepidation he raised his glasses and saw the next wave of Lannister's being cut down. It was not a pleasant sight as these men joined the dead on the blood-soaked ground. He was a good soldier, but he was glad that war was so horrible or else many people would enjoy it, enjoy taking lives.

He remembered when he was at the Academy one of his instructors, a grizzled soldier who had fought against the last of the Tiger Cultists and lost his eye in the process, told him that in a battle he had to watch out for one moment, the one moment when he knew it was time to press the advantage.

That time was now.

The Lannister infantry were starting to run, at first it was just the wounded who had been staggering away from the fight but the sight of them leaving was making some of the others run for it, although most of them were still fighting, they were wavering. Hence, he was hoping the artillery would break them and then he'd begin the next stage of the battle. If there was a plus to the Lannister's strategy it was that it would be easier to launch the counter attack. He commanded his horse forward and galloped towards the constables, drawing his sword as he went. Once he reached them he held his sword high and cleared his throat as the cannons fired their tenth cannister shot.

'Fix bayonets!' he ordered and along the line his command was echoed by the officers, Clegane who insisted on wearing that damned helmet, also roared the order and held his sword up. The men all stood up tall and locked their bayonets onto the ends of their rifles.

'Prepare to charge!' he shouted. 'Charge!'

At that Clegane let out a roar and all the Constables in that block, just over two thousand men let out a cheer and ran at full pace into the breach in the rampart. Curn remained behind the fighting and just watched, proud at these Westerosi who had chosen to fight for the King of Farsos.

…

Tyrion was running as fast as he could on his small legs, Bronn next to him, as they retreated from the Farosi onslaught. He had been lucky to not be killed by the cannons and by the volley fire, if Bronn hadn't pulled him behind a pile of dirt left over from the rampart being toppled which saved both of their lives. When the Farosi charged he was relieved for a moment, remembering what his brother had said, in hand to hand the advantage of guns would be taken away, but as soon as the enemy charged into his men, they broke and began to run. Tyrion knew enough of history that when men broke there was almost no chance of rallying them so of course, he ran as well. Bronn was now carrying a shotgun he had picked up off a corpse and used it to blast away two of the enemy before he also began to run. They kept running down the hill towards their own lines, many of the enemy still right behind them. Eventually he looked over his shoulder and saw the Farosi stop their attack and then then begin to return to their lines.

…

Back at his usual position on the hill, Curn looked to a bugler near him and gave the order.

'The Constables will retire!'

The bugle blasted through the air and quickly the men, their uniforms spattered with blood and dust, some of them missing their bowler hats and their bayonets were dripping with gore. Yet, in spite of that, they were eager, they had thrown back some of the most feared men in Westeros. A year ago most of the had been Gold Cloaks, working under corrupt scum they called officers and spent their days standing on street corners breaking up bar fights. Now they were soldiers of Farsos.

As he watched he saw the regular soldiers form a semi-circle around the inside of the breach in the wall, any Lannister soldier who tried to get through would face a solid wall of gunfire. The battle was far from over, he knew that, but this showed the enemy what awaited anyone who tried to fight Farsos. After seeing their largest attack of the day fail, he dreaded to think of what they would be feeling now.

…

After an hour of sitting around doing nothing, Jon was starting to feel even more frustrated with, well, sitting around and doing nothing while he could hear the gunfire from the front line. Next to him was Ghost, who was somehow impossibly calm.

'You alright sir?' asked Osoni.

'Of course not. I want to get out there and take on the Lannisters, not sit around doing nothing.'

'Neither do I sir but if you want some advice, don't look so restless, it isn't good for our boys.'

Jon looked at his troopers, all of them sitting near their horses, checking their carbines again and in some cases smoking from their clay pipes.

'I'm sorry, Sergeant. I don't know what this Troop would do without you.'

'Let's hope you don't have to find out.'

There was a sharp series of bugle blasts and everyone looked towards Colonel Relini, still on his horse.

'Mount up,' Jon ordered, knowing what that tune meant. It was time to fight.

Jon climbed onto his horse and rode to the head of his Troop, all the other Troops of the regiment, and they began to ride forwards, to the top of the hill and just behind the rampart where the Farosi infantry were forming up four deep, bayonets fixed and rifles loaded, the constables about twenty paces behind them. Jon pulled out his field glasses, as many of the infantry Lieutenants and other officers had, and looked down towards the Lannister's, not sure what to expect. They were certainly moving but away from them, back towards Rosby and then probably further away.

'They're retreating,' Jon said, a bit too loudly and he heard some of his men cheering, looking to his left he saw his men excitedly gripping the reins of their horses while their beasts, sensing the excitement of their riders, were barely able to hold themselves back.

'No,' Lowhill, who was close by, told Jon. 'Look at how they're positioned. Their infantry are pulling back but still keeping formation in the centre, same with their cavalry on the flanks.'

'They're trying to catch us,' Jon concluded. 'They want to lure us off the hill.'

'Exactly,' he replied and grinned. 'And we're going to do exactly what they want.'

'Sir?'

'Just watch,' he told him and Jon looked along the hill towards Brigadier Curn, next to a bugler.

Just as he watched him the bugler let out the call, first a general infantry signal and then the one for the advance.

'Forward march!' the infantry officers shouted at once and pointed their swords forwards as the cannons let loose a volley on the enemy.

The infantry still at the ramparts, as one, threw all their weight into the walls they had built and the earth fell back into the trench before them, allowing the infantry to begin the advance easily, a solid line of blue, a forest of bayonets, advancing in their line down the hill.

When the infantry reached the bottom of the hill they kept advancing for another twenty feet until they came to a stop.

'The Lannisters,' Jon said, 'they're turning around. The cavalry are going to attack our men's flanks.'

'Exaclty,' said Lowhill.

Jon thought for a moment his superior officer was mad and he looked through the glasses again, the Farosi had begun to use volley fire against the charging Lannister infantry but he cared more about the cavalry, lances lowered now, bearing down upon the flanks of the infantry.

There was a sudden shift in the infantry formation, the men on the flanks breaking formation, maybe three battalions on each flank broke off and then adopted a different formation, a hollow square, right in the path of the Lannister cavalry while the enemy infantry were being shredded by disciplined rifle fire.

'Perfect,' Jon said as he saw the Lannister's on their horses, unable to punch through the squares, haplessly ride around them, trying to skewer the infantry with their lances only to be shot down.

Jon saw some of them though bypassing the squares, forming up behind the main battle line, ready for a charge.

'Prepare to charge and fire!' Colonel Relini shouted, loud enough for the entire regiment to hear him.

'Attack formation!' Jon ordered his Troopers. 'Three ranks deep! Draw carbines, load!'

The standard charge formation of the Light Horse, three ranks deep, carbines out, sabres in their sheaths. Jon and Osoni were on the right, Jon had his revolver in hand, he saw his men were in position, all of them excited. Colonel Relini was at the front, right in the centre with his sword drawn. The Lannister cavalry, hundreds of them now behind the main line, now noticed them and were rushing into another formation.

'Charge!' Relini roared, one echoed by his men, and they charged at full speed down the hill, maintaining a rough line at the charge, bugles blowing, the regiments colours held aloft, the unicorn and the griffon, the blue and yellow and in its corner the number 21 sewn in bright gold, shining as the sun hit it.

At the right distance Jon gave the order, as did the other Lieutenants.

'FIRE!'

The first rank of horsemen, Jon saw Trooper Hensin amongst them, fired their carbines down into the Lannister cavalry, charging uphill towards them, most of them together but others streaming through without formation. The first rank slowed their horses for the other two ranks to overtake them and fire in turn until everyone had fired, carbines were shoved back into their sheaths and swords drawn, glinting in the light and Jon aimed his revolver, quickly firing off all six rounds, not even knowing if he hit any of them, tried to put the weapon in its holster but he missed and dropped the gun, growling in frustration he drew his own sabre and let out a yell as the Light Horse crashed into the Lannister knights.

Jon stabbed his sword through a knights arm pit, cutting him down instantly and then opened the throat of another who wasn't wearing a gorget with a swift slash. Blood splattered Jon's face, screams filled the air, gunshots were deafening and Still Jon kept fighting, swinging his sword and stabbing through gaps in armour. He saw Ghost, no more than a white blue, opening horses necks and then doing the same to their riders. At one point he saw Ghost leap up onto a rider and knock him off, quickly killing him in seconds before the wolf charged at another.

Suddenly his horse screeched in pain and Jon saw a broken lance head through the beasts neck. His beast staggered before falling dead, Jon jumping off at the last second, avoiding being crushed by it. Jon was soon on his feet and parried a blow from a dismounted Lannister knights before kicking him in the knee, knocking the man down and Jon slashed him across the neck. There was a shout behind him and Jon turned to face his new enemy but he saw an enemy falling dead, a fresh bullet hole where his left eye should have been. Jon looked and saw Lowhill on his horse, revolver in hand.

'Get another horse Jon!' he shouted but a white and gold blue rode past the captain, and with the flash of a sword, the Farosi officers neck was opened and he fell from his white horse who bolted away.

'Captain!' he shouted and crouched over his officer, holding him in his arms but it was no good, Lowhill was dead.

Jon looked in the direction the killer had ridden and he saw him, a white cloak and golden armour, who else could it be. He was looking at him, the Kingslayer on his horse, sword in hand, looking at him. Jon grabbed Lowhill's revolver, not sure how many bullets were left in it and marched towards the Kingslayer who began galloping towards Jon.

Jon aimed at the Kingslayer at first but at the last moment shifted his aim and fired three times, the bullets striking the horse in the head and sending the Kingslayer flying off the beast as it fell dead. Jon holstered the revolver, not caring if their were any bullets left and picked up his sword again, advancing towards Ser Jaime who pushed himself up and held his sword in a fighting stance.

'Kingslayer!' Jon shouted.

'Bastard!'

'Lat time I saw you, you were running from my men.'

'You'll be the one running this time, running right back into Princess Radwen's bed.'

'Not yet. I'll send your head to your son.'

Jon saw a glint of worry in his opponents' eyes, realising that he knew. The worry turned to a grim determination in less than a second and their swords clashed.

…

Far to the East, another group of Farosi prepared to kill. Ten men, all wearing long black coats, were waiting. They were near Pentos, sitting down amongst a clump of trees about a kilometre and a half from a road. All of them were waiting, all of them waiting for the group they knew would be coming up the road soon. All of them holding their rifles, specially made Donley&Sons Lever Action Rifles, fitted with longer barrels, designed to take a much larger bullet and a telescope instead of the normal sights. With these modifications the weapons could kill a man at almost two kilometres, and now they would be put to good use.

'The target is due to arrive any minute now,' said Hume, the leader of this group of the RES (Royal Enforcement Service) the most secretive branch of the Military Police. It was a nondescript name for their department, but it was one of the most effective branches of the organisation. 'Remember men, this is a quick operation, kill and then dispose. We will be out of Essos in three days' time.'

At that he looked at their other supplies, they had their horses tethered to the trees nearby, next to them were three large metal tubs, spades and metal barrels of acid covered by wooden ones as a disguise.

'Sir,' said Ronild, his second in command who was scanning the horizon with his field glasses. 'There's a party approaching.'

Hume reached into the leather satchel on his right side and pulled out his own glasses, looking in the same direction as Ronild.

'There they are,' he said, seeing the small group of figures riding on horses at an easy pace, maybe eight or so riders were there. 'To arms. Mark your targets and await the order to fire.'

At his command the men grabbed their rifles and took up their positions, their rifles resting on their bi pods and they waited for the order. Hume did the same and took up his target, a boy, around seventeen years old with silver blonde hair. According to the files on him he was called Young Griff, suspected to be a pretender to the Iron Throne. Next to the boy was an older man, apparently he was Jon Connington. Hume kept his gaze on the boy in the telescope and tightened his trigger, feeling just how much it resisted him, almost as a final reminder that if he used it, a life would be taken.

'Fire,' he ordered and the deafening volley of shots rang out.

While his rifle was a powerful and effective weapon, it was not pleasant to see the target die through a telescope. He saw the blood burst through the boys chest, tearing through his clothes, blood spurting from the wound as he fell from the horse which bolted in fear.

'All targets down,' said Ronild as he inspected the scene.

'Alright men. We've done our job. We dissolve the bodies and leave the area.'

…

Neither of them was able to gain an advantage. Without armour and with a thinner blade, Jon was faster than his opponent but Ser Jaime's armour was of the finest make, there were no gaps he could easily reach and he knew that all the Kingslayer needed was a single hit and he'd be gone. Jon parried another blow and struck the golden knight, creating a long scratch down his armour but not even harming the man underneath. In return, Ser Jaime swung his sword and Jon couldn't get out of the way in time, cutting through his leather jerkin and he hissed in pain at the wound in his chest as he felt blood rush across his skin and mix into his jacket. Jon took three steps away and touched the cut in his jerking, taking his hand away from the wound and saw it was covered in blood. Jon charged at the Kingslayer and smashed his enemies sword so hard it flew out of Ser Jaime's hand, Jon then dropped his own sword and tackled the man, spitting into his enemies eye, and then delivered a punch straight into Ser Jaime's nose, crunching his nose. Pain flared through Jon as Ser Jaime's knee was brought up into Jon's groin. He fell to the ground in agony as the Kingslayer stood over him, pulling a dagger from the back of his belt. Jon thought fast and saw a dead Trooper nearby, carbine in hand. Jon grabbed the carbine and pointed it at Ser Jaime, pulled the trigger and the gun made an audible click, empty.

In the blink of an eye Jon jabbed up with the gun, the barrel of it knocking his enemy between the eyes, delirious from the blow as he collapsed, next to a dead shotgunner. Jon ran towards the dead trooper and pulled a single bullet out of the pouch in the man's webbing before jumping behind the troopers also dead horse as a cloud of shotgun pellets tore open the beast's belly. Ser Jaime, unsteady on his feet from Jon's blow, fired the other barrel from his recovered shotgun, again striking the horse so he crouched over the shotgunner, pulling two shells out of the mans satchel while Jon loaded his carbine.

Both men loaded.

Both men aimed.

One man fired.

Both men looked at each other.

One fell dead.

One fell from exhaustion.

The two forms lay still, just two amongst thousands of others as the Battle of Rosby slowly ended.

 **Longest chapter of the story so far. So, I hope you guys enjoyed it and please review, let me know what you think. Have a great day guys. See you next time.**

 **Lord Vilarreal of House Grand: Interesting idea, although I think that Dragon Glass might be too brittle to use in firearms, although if they are mixed with lead it could work. I'll think about it. Thanks for your review, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	14. Chapter 14

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: Sorry this update's been so long to come but I just wasn't satisfied with earlier versions. Still I hope you enjoy this one. Please review and let me know what you think.**

Chapter Fourteen

Oh Great Queen

Another banner, stained in blood and torn in places, was thrown down onto the pile of them as Radwen looked on. She stood on the steps of the Red Keep, looking down onto the courtyard as the victorious troops conducted their victory parade, Farosi troops, rifles shouldered and bayonets fixed marched past her, each one depositing a captured Lannister banner or flag at the bottom of the steps while the people of King's Landing looked on, watching the show and cheering. Radwen remained dignified, wearing her military uniform and tiara, dressed the same as she did on the day she took the city. At her side stood Brigadier Curn and Colonel Donnah, both of them happy at the result of the battle.

'Excellently done Brigadier,' she said to him.

'I'm glad you're pleased Your Highness.'

'How many men did we lose?' she asked, not having a chance to ask until now, all the while keeping her eyes on the men.

'Two hundred and seventeen dead, three hundred and four wounded and four missing in action.'

'How many of the wounded will survive?' she asked, hoping for something.

'Most of them will be able to fight again soon.'

'Good,' she said, feeling a little annoyed that he wasn't more specific.

When the news got back, Radwen decided that she had to speak with Cersei, to tell her the truth before she could hear any rumours and suffer any heartache or false hope from them. She spoke with her for only a few minutes to tell her the truth, that her brother, her lover, had been killed. In response the broken queen just said two words.

'Get out.'

Radwen left and she could hear Cersei's wailing of sorrow and agony following her down the corridors.

The men of the Light Horse rode by next, depositing their captured flags on the pile and then saluting her before riding past, she saw Ghost with them, walking along calmly next to Sergeant Osoni, if she remembered his name right. Jon spoke highly of him, the same way he spoke of Captain Lowhill. She had talked with Lowhill a few times, usually for meetings and formal matters, but now he was gone, half decapitated by the Kingslayer. As for Jon, she wasn't sure yet. The last of the banners were thrown onto the pile as a new group of soldiers were marched though, a selection of the prisoners. Unlike their captured banners, these men wore freshly cleaned armour, ready to face whatever fate awaited them. They were marched before the steps and faced Radwen, a solid line of the Royal Guard between them. She looked down at these men and loudly declared to them.

'Sons of the Westerlands, you fought bravely, you fought honourably and you fought well against the mightiest soldiers in the world. Though you fought for an evil cause I do not see you as any more than what you are, men who had no choice to fight for evil. You will not be punished for the sins of your masters and you will not be punished for doing what you saw as your duty. For the rest of the war you will be held in captivity or until your exchange can be negotiated. The officers will be housed in the old Farosi Embassy, the men in camps outside the walls. Captain, take them away.'

And so the prisoners were marched off, their heads held high while the Light Horse rode to take their position as well as several regiments of infantry, rifles at slope arms and bayonets fixed.

'Soldiers of Farsos,' she proclaimed, 'you have fought, you have bled, you have won a mighty victory. Yet, with a heavy heart,' she stopped for emphasis having practiced this speech several times in the mirror, 'I have terrible news to deliver. A short time before you left this city, a battle was fought on the southern front and it did not go well,' she saw many of the soldiers look at each other with surprise and worry while the Sergeants ordered them to keep facing forwards. Radwen hated this, having to tell them but if she didn't a mix of rumours would spread, it was better to get it over with. 'I am sorry to tell you this, but the forces of King Renly ambushed four regiments of the army, as far as we can tell there were few survivors, I am sorry. The men killed were of the 83rd, 86th, 87th Regiments of Foot and the 20th Regiment of Heavy Horse,' in the her pause she heard some men gasp with shock and the clatter of a rifle being dropped. Transfers between regiments were far from uncommon, they would know men from those units 'While this news is tragic, our thoughts and prayers are with them and their loved ones, tonight we will hold a memorial service in their honour. Do not let this tragedy overshadow your victory though, you have won a victory which will be remembered for ever! Long live the King!'

'Long live the King!' came the shouted response.

'Brigadier.'

Curn stepped forwards, cleared his throat and shouted.

'BRIGADE! DISMISSED!'

And with that the men began to march off and Radwen walked back into the castle itself, Donnah and Curn following her.

'What's the latest intelligence?' she asked them as they went towards the

'General Morsey is continuing to fortify the town of Watsend, though he is still waiting for more reinforcements to arrive before fully occupying the area.'

'How many are at Watsend then?'

'Three thousand, all infantry, and three cannons.'

'That's a rather light garrison, all things considered.'

'I know but after the ambush he's not willing to risk moving small numbers to reinforce, he will march in force.'

'What do we know about the North?'

'Lord Stark's forces have crossed the Neck and the Ironborn forces are gathering in force to oppose him at the Stony Shore.'

'I understand. And our fleet?'

'All naval reinforcements have arrived at last and Admiral Greenman is sailing north as we speak with a third of the fleet.'

'And what of the others?'

'A small number of smaller ships are still at Oldtown to guard the supply lines. As for the rest, they're sailing around Dorn, they will break the Stormlands fleet and allow fresh supplies to come in.'

'Good to hear it.'

'The relief fleet is also being led by Prince Miccal.'

At that Radwen stopped in her tracks and turned to face Curn, finally some good news.

'My brother's coming here?'

'He is,' he responded with a slight smile.

'Excellent. Now gentlemen, is there anything else?'

'Yes,' Donnah told her. 'My agents in Dorn and the Vale report military build up.'

'Go on.'

'It looks like the forces of the Vale are preparing to enter the war and the Dornish are fortifying the mountain passes.'

'Well, our list of enemies grows longer. What is the contingency we planned for in this scenario?'

'Prince Miccal is bringing several ships of reinforcements with him so we will refortify our position at Rosby and launch attacks against the Stormlands. As for the Dornish, we will occupy the Stormlands and the southern Reach before occupying the passes.'

'A wise idea. The last thing we want is to fight a war in Dorn, it will take too long. The Vale though, well, that's not going to be easy.'

'I met Lady Arryn a few times, she is a rather unstable woman,' Curn said in a slow, concerned voice.

'I agree, and I saw her a lot more than you did. I think she belongs in an asylum rather than a castle.'

'All this, Your Hughness,' Donnah reminded her, 'depends on General Morsey getting a damn move on.'

'I have upmost confidence in Morsey,' she told him. 'Now, if that's all I have business to attend to.'

'Of course,' Curn responded before he and Donnah went their own ways leaving Radwen with her usual escort of two guards.

After a moment she began to walk the now familiar route through the corridors towards the infirmary, formally a barracks for the guards. Now it was used for the men wounded in the fighting, three hundred and four men either laying down or sitting up in the beds while Maester's, surgeons and nurses went about their business, trying to save as many lives as possible. Most of the wounds were light slashes across the chest, one of the nurses had told her. The Westerosi weren't expecting the Farosi troops to wear any armour, if it hadn't been for the leather jerkins many of these men would be dead. Radwen walked past a row of the less seriously wounded men, their wounds minor and only needing some bed rest. They were lucky.

At the end of the infirmary were some small rooms reserved for wounded officers and Radwen entered the one she was interested in. The small chamber was occupied by two people, on asleep in a bed and the other awake in the chair next to him. Jon looked peaceful, his breathing steady now and his skin having a little more colour in it than the last time she saw him.

'How is he?' Radwen asked Ser Barristan as she closed the door behind her, leaving the guards outside, and then she made her way to the other chair.

'Doing better. I was talking to the surgeon, if the Kingslayer had struck him any harder he would have broken his ribs, that could have torn his lungs open.'

'He was just unlucky the wound became infected.'

'He'll live though,' Ser Barristan reminded her. 'He'll live.'

'Why have you sat by his bed since he arrived?' Radwen asked him, not knowing why this old man who, as far as she knew, had only spoken with Jon a handful of times.

'I have my reasons,' he answered in a tone which said that was all she would get and Radwen couldn't be bothered trying to work it out of him. 'I'll leave you for now,' the old man said and stood up, managing to stay upright with his cane.

'Will you need any help getting back to your quarters?'

'No. I'll manage. Farewell Your Highness.'

And so he left and Radwen was left alone with Jon, she placed her hand over his, just being able to feel the subtle stirrings of a body at rest. He was wearing very little real clothes; the sheets were pulled up to just below his shoulders allowing her to see the extensive linen bandages wrapped around his chest. Some of his loose hairs were loose across his forehead so she brushed them to the side, wanting to do something to help him recover sooner but being helpless to do anything. One thing was certain though, Jon Snow would live.

…

Private Hassan Corrin, from the waist up wearing nothing, placed another sack filled with dirt into the ever-growing pile which was taking form by the walled town of Watsend. All over the place, around the wide area south of the stream, an area occupied by farms, fields and orchards, Hassan and the other Farosi were hard at work. For a moment he stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at what they were making. It was a redoubt, the standard field work of a Farosi defensive line, now it was under waist height but when completed it would be eight feet tall, the bags filled with dirt and sand from a nearby quarry forming the walls of it and pre made wooden beams forming the skeleton. When finished the top would be flat with a wooden floor and at its front a parapet for men to take shelter behind and for the artillery.

'Enough slacking!' shouted one of the Engineers and Hassan got back to work.

'Sorry sir,' he responded and hurried back to the large pile of sand bags left by the cart, grabbed one and, with a great effort, heaved it onto his back and began to carry it back to the rampart.

It was soon added to the growing structure and just before he began the walk to the pile a whistle was blown and all eyes turned to Sergeant Dommel.

'Rest period! One hour!'

With that the regiment dropped everything and began the walk to the shaded shelters set up by the town wall. Once there they all fell to the ground, happy to get some relief from the scorching sun. No one said anything, they were all tired and the only thing that got any reaction was the sound of the water carriers walking towards them with their buckets.

A flock of singing birds flew overhead and a cool breeze washed over Hassan, thankfully cooling him down a little but not by much. Then there was signing, in the distance so he sat up, most of the others didn't, and looked for the source. Not too far away was a group of women singing a solemn song, all of them dressed in blue dresses with white aprons over them. They were the regiments Priestesses, singing in memory of the men lost in the last battle, walking towards the stream to conduct their rituals and singing the songs of memory.

Oh Great Queen

The Maid of the Sea

Look upon your sons today

They have fought and bled in your name

Now take them to your care.

Oh Great Queen

The Maid of the Sea

Look upon your daughters today

Their sons and loves have gone away

Always care for them.

Oh Great Queen

The Maid of the Sea

Look upon your children today

As you are a mother to us

Comfort our brothers gone forever.

…

Sansa stood a distance from the True Queen and watched as she knelt by a great pool I the heart of the palace, tears falling from her eyes but not making a sound. In the days since she had arrived the True Queen had been distant, her mind occupied by something of great importance, but Sansa didn't want to ask her what it was.

The Palace beneath the Waves, the home of the True Queen, was an incredible place. A vast city on the ocean floor far from any land where glowing coral reefs grew like flowers in Winterfell's glass garden and where great veins of gold and jewels sparkled in the light. The walls of the palace were a stone smoother than any ever felt and the halls lit by rocks letting out a gentle blue light. Men and women clad in simple blue robes went about their business in the Palace and the city around it while soldiers clad in intricate black armour and carrying halberds practiced in the many yards.

'Are you alright Lady Sansa?'

It was Calina, one of the True Queens Saints, a small number of beings who almost came close to their Queen in power. She looked to be Sansa's age but that was just a front, she knew that only because she told her directly.

'I'm fine. Just, why is Her Grace crying?'

'She cry's because her children cry,' she answered. 'The friends of those who died in the battle cry, so our Queen cries with them. The mothers, fathers, wives and children of the dead will soon cry and our Queen will cry with them.'

'She can't cry for everyone though.'

'No she can't, but in war, so many die and she feels every death so quickly, she has to cry.'

'It's horrible.'

'It's her mercy. All of us here with her, we are those who lived in her name or who died in her realm. Only she can show such mercy. After millennia, she feels it all the same.'

'How old is she?'

'When you are as old as her, years mean nothing. I think she stopped counting a long time ago. I do know what she has seen, she saw the death of your aunt, the man who loved her. She saw the Conquest of Aegon. She saw the rise of Valyria and she saw its end and much more before then.'

'I did,' the Queen said and stood up from the pool and walked towards them, no tears on her face but her eyes slightly tinged by red. 'Calina, the new arrivals are awaiting you. When they have calmed down, I will speak to them.'

'Of course Your Majesty.'

She curtsied and went away to do her duty, leaving Sansa alone with the goddess.

'I think I've neglected you of late, Sansa.'

'Not at all.'

'Don't lie,' she said, no spite in her voice. 'You deserve an explanation but first, something fun.'

'What did you think of?'

'Follow me,' she then led Sansa through her palace, up the stairs of the palace to its highest towers until they emerged on the balcony of a spire.

Sansa looked up, only a few feet away, just out of reach, she could see the water, the whole palace and the city were in a pocket of air beneath the waves. The True Queen stepped onto the rail of the balcony and reached her hand up, touching the water and then reached the other hand out to Sansa.

'Take my hand.'

'I can't swim well.'

'You won't need to. Trust me my child.'

'You give your word?'

'Of course.'

Sansa, fighting back the nerves and taking comfort in the True Queens words, took hold of her hand and, suddenly, something was there. A power, a strength flowing between the two of them, and Sansa was pulled up into the water.

Once surrounded by it Sansa panicked and held her breath, kicking about and flailing, letting go of the True Queen's hand and keeping her eyes shut.

'Sansa.'

She stopped and opened her eyes, expecting to feel the agony of salt water, instead it was as if she was standing on the ground. There was no pain and Sansa's vision was as clear as ever. The True Queen was there, looking at her was a nostalgic smile about ten yards away.

'Come here.'

Sansa was about to begin trying to swim but remembered the True Queens words, took a nervous step forwards and it was as if she was walking on a stone floor though beneath her there was nothing but water.

'How?' she asked, not knowing how any of this was possible.

'I transferred some of my power to you, so you could live as I do for a while. It will only last a few hours.'

'Thank you for this,' she said, grinning at this strange experience.

'You're welcome. Now, hold my hands,' she said and held them out and Sansa took hold of them. 'This is always hard the first time.'

'What is?'

'This.'

She had to stifle a scream as she and the True Queen were shot up through the water at incredible speed, with each second that passed everything became brighter and brighter until they burst through the surface of the water and into the sunlight.

'That was incredible,' Sansa said, laughing madly at the rush of adrenaline.

'It was for me the first time,' she said and stood up on the surface of the water, Sansa doing the same and the Queen pointed to a small island nearby. 'Over there.'

The island, more like a small strip of sand in the sea without trees or grass, was only about fifty feet from one end to the other.

'Why are we here?'

'To talk. I overheard you and my Saint. You were talking about me, who I am, how old I am, and she was right. I have seen the ages go by. Or at least the other True Queens and myself have.'

'The other True Queens? There are more of you?'

'Yes, and no. The first True Queen, a powerful sorceress who lived in an age when most men were still savage who had not yet discovered fire, she learned the art of controlling water and somehow, I don't know how, her memories are hard to find, learned to see the future, well, she saw every future.'

'How are there many futures?'

'Simple. Each decision we make, changes the future, it creates a new one, every decision made long away shapes us now and the same is for the past. There are millions of different versions of reality, I have seen many, I've seen one's for you, I have seen ones where we never met and others where we met sooner. It's almost maddening to be honest. Anyway, the first True Queen, saw that all versions of the future had a great disaster and in many of them it ended horribly for all who live. So she created the Palace and the city, and there she waited, planning for the coming of darkness.'

'You said there were other True Queens.'

'There were, and there are. Every thousand years, when each True Queen grows weary of her duty, she chooses a new True Queen, someone to take over the burden of her power and rule as Queen of the Seas. She has the memories and wisdom of all the other True Queens. That is why I came to find you Sansa,' she said and put her hand on her shoulder. 'Since you were a child playing with her dolls you wanted to be a queen, in other lives you would have been the Queen of Winter, the Queen of Westeros. I offer you my kingdom. I will make you the True Queen after me.'

'Why me?'

'There's something in you, an innocence and a strength. That is what we need, now more than ever. The darkness is coming. I have reigned for nine hundred and seven years. My time grows short.'

Sansa didn't know what to say, the power, the burden, all of it on her shoulders. What could she say?

 **AN: So, who saw that coming. Now, for the record, I had planned to have Jon kill Jaime before Season 8's character assassination of him, so that had nothing to do with it. I loved seeing the reviews of the last chapter, c'mon, I'm not a sadist, I wouldn't kill Jon, or would I? Ha, ha, ha.**

 **Anyway, I hope you all liked this one, so, please let me know what you think. Have a great day everyone.**


	15. Chapter 15

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

Chapter Fifteen

A Most Excellent Display

King Renly was, again, holding a war council and the mood was a mixed one. On the one hand they had won a victory against the Farosi and now they whole army was amassed for the battle to come, however, the news from the wider war effort was not encouraging. The Lannister's had failed to take King's Landing, Sam knew that Renly had hoped that Tywin would take the city but take extremely heavy casualties in the process. The news that the Farosi had wiped out most of the Lannister army was a disappointment, the survivors were retreating back to the Westerlands.

'The situation is still good for us,' Renly assured his generals gathered around the table. 'The Farosi are still reeling from our victory, we will win this war. Our scouts say that the Farosi are fortifying a small town called Watsend, though the garrison is light, but our scouts suggest that the Farosi are preparing to march out in force. This is our chance to crush the foreigners once and for all.'

'Isn't it dangerous facing them in the open?' asked Lord Tarly.

'There's always a risk in war,' he answered. 'Besides, our last victory showed that the enemy are not invincible.'

'Your Grace,' Sam said as he stepped forwards. 'I have given my advice many times and I have always argued against facing the enemy in the open field.'

'We can't win this war by nought but ambushes,' Lord Tyrell responded with a huff.

'What do you have to say?' Renly asked him.

'We may have a way to weaken the enemy bullets,' Sam explained, now he had the attention of all the men in there, and then nodded to the man behind him who was carrying something wrapped in leather.

'I am Harreq Torra,' he introduced himself. 'As some of you know, I'm in command of the armies weapon smiths. Thanks to that one of the most important parts of my job is to test the strength of our weapons. For that, I use this.'

He then opened up the leather role revealing a tightly wrapped cylinder of wet straw tied with cord. Sam then entered again.

'Farosi bullets are made from soft lead which, after entering the body, flatten out and begin to spin, tearing up muscles and organs. While this causes a lot of damage to the body it means that the bullet rarely passes straight through.'

'This straw,' Harreq explained, 'is soaked through and tied up as tight as possible, so much that it is close the strength of flesh.'

'We've done tests already,' Sam went on. 'We've fired into them and two out of every three times the bullets do not pass through.'

'And if our men carry them it could keep them from being killed?' asked Tyrell.

'Probably, but we're working on something better. We will make a pole about ten feet long with another pole six feet long crossing it at the top. From this pole we will hang as many of these as possible and have our men carry the poles, holding them so the straw bundles are in front of our men.'

'Creating a moveable wall,' Renly said and grinned while nodding.

'That's the idea.'

'Have everyone start working on them as soon as possible,' Renly ordered him.

'I already gave the order,' Sam told him.

'Without the permission of your king?' Tyrell scoffed.

'We don't have time to waste.'

'Ser Samwell,' Renly said with a bemused grin, 'I agree that what you did was well meaning but you should have come to me first. Now, as for Ned Stark he's still running around in the North instead of trying to take the capital. Where is he anyway?'

'Lord Stark was here not long ago,' said Lord Tarly and pointed to Torrhen's Square. 'He relieved the town and routed the Iron Born there. Robb Stark has secured Winterfell and pursued the enemy all the way to Long Lake before defeating them.'

'So the war in the North will soon be over?'

'It appears so. The Iron Born are retreating to the coast of the Rills, probably planning to meet up with their fleet to either retreat or receive reinforcements.'

'Let's hope Lord Stark finishes them up quickly and then gets back to the real war,' Renly said and shook his head in annoyance which Sam found to be slightly disgusting.

Lord Stark had to protect his own territory or his bannermen would abandon him. If Renly couldn't see that then he'd be a bad king indeed.

'The Farosi fleet has set sail,' Tarly continued. 'Their heading along the coast of Dorn, probably to relieve King's Landing, and the others are heading north, we're not sure why though.'

'Could they be trying to land troops?' asked Tyrell.

'I doubt it,' Sam explained, having seen the reports himself. 'It looks like they only have war ships with them, not troop transports, they could only be carrying marines, not enough to seriously threaten us.'

'So what are they doing?' asked Renly.

'Maybe they want to raid the Iron Islands while most of their men are away,' Lord Tarly suggested. 'Either way, they were last spotted in the distance by the people of Old Oak a week ago.'

'It makes sense,' Sam agreed.

'Our course is clear then,' Renly declared. 'In four days we will march on Watsend. Ser Samwell's poles will be ready by then and with them we can overwhelm the Farosi. After that we retake Old Town and drive the barbarians from our shores!'

At that there was an enthusiastic cheer from most of the officers before they were instructed to leave the tent, but Sam stayed for a while longer until only he and the king remained.

'You have more to say?' he asked him while Renly looked over the map again.

'Yes Your Grace. We need more firearms to even stand a chance in a pitched battle.'

'And we will have three thousand more after we take Watsend.'

'I don't mean that. We will need to start building our own firearms. I have done simple designs for muskets and cannons that our smiths can produce as quickly as possible. They won't be as good as the Farosi weapons but they'll be better than nothing.'

'No,' Renly ordered.

'No?' Sam asked, not understanding why he would refuse such a request.'

'You heard me. I'm willing to use captured enemy weapons to win the war but what about after the fighting is done. A single peasant with a few days training and a rifle can kill a knight in the strongest armour, the sharpest sword and a life time of training. When this war is over I want every gun destroyed, every Farosi merchant expelled from this land and everything they have brought to the Seven Kingdoms wiped from history.'

'But why? If we use Farosi technology it will help us, their fertilisers and printing presses could improve the lives of our people.'

'Tell me Ser Samwell, do you think I'm like my brother?'

'Your Grace?'

'Am I like Robert?'

'In some ways,' he answered, not sure where this was going or how it was relevant.

'And in other ways I'm not. Unlike Robert I actually plan on being a good king, and for that I need a kingdom that isn't in chaos and for that we need to bring Westeros back to what it was before the Farosi came here. Their fertilisers may increase crop yields but you know what that means? Dropping food prices, more competition and anyone who can't compete will lose their farm, after that we'll have hordes of peasants wondering from place to place looking for work and causing trouble. Printing presses will be even worse, it means that the bookmakers guilds will be out for blood for anyone who uses them, the Faith will be even worse trying to stop anyone who tries to make their own version of the Seven Pointed Star and starting a civil war over the book. Gods alone what will happen when someone starts printing "A Warning to Young Girls". You see what I mean? The Farosi are arrogant enough to think that throwing technology at people will improve their lives when it bloody well won't, it will tear us apart. If we build our own guns, it will be a nightmare having the soldiers give them back.'

'I do see what you mean but we won't win this war with bows and arrows. We need firepower.'

Renly didn't say anything for a few moments, he just thought on it before shaking his head.

'No, not for now. Focus on your ideas for stopping enemy bullets. Goodbye.'

Sam knew that was a subtle way of telling him to get out so he left, feeling more frustrated than before, knowing that they had to build their own weapons in the Farosi style to at least even the playing field.

'Samwell,' came a voice and he looked over his shoulder to see his father standing nearby.

'Father?' he asked.

'I'm impressed,' he said with a subtle nod before leaving.

At least something good happened that day.

…

Meanwhile, far to the north, a battle had been going on for hours. Lord Stark was on foot as he personally led five hundred men towards the front lines, past the corpses of dead Ironborn and Northmen. With Ned was Theon, just next to him and, like the rest of the five hundred, were armed with shotguns and swords. The sea breeze blew through the air as Ned looked ahead to where his riflemen were firing up towards the top of the massive sand dune the Ironborn were defending.

After re-entering the North, the Ironborn quickly began a retreat towards the Rills. It appeared that the key to their plan was to take Moat Cailin and keep Ned's own army in the south. Evidently they had failed and now they were retreating to strike again. After relieving Torrhen's Square he had sent Robb on to Winterfell while he led the majority of the army after the Ironborn's main force. The enemy moved quickly and they had only been able to catch up with them that morning. The enemy commander had set up strong defences, each one held by hundreds of Ironborn armed with muskets in trenches or behind barricades made from logs or piles of dirt as well as many stakes hammered into the ground to weaken a cavalry attack. As a result, Ned had to take each of these defensive position one by one and now, as the afternoon sun began to descend in the sky, they were at the last line. A tall sand dune right before the beach, behind which the rest of the Ironborn army was loading onto their ships to escape. With every second that passed more of them were fleeing, they had to take the dune, move the rest of the army over it and fight the Ironborn on the beach or else they would be back to bring more carnage to the Seven Kingdoms.

The Northern Rifleman were spread out along the base of the sand dune, their rifles superior range allowing them to keep at this distance and fire at the Ironborn musketeers taking shelter behind the top of the sand dune. Waiting with the riflemen was Greatjon himself, looking as strong and mighty as ever sword in hand while he screamed obscenities at the riflemen to reload quicker.

'Umber,' Ned said to him.

'Lord Stark, are you sure this is a good idea?'

'Every second we wait another Ironborn ship escapes,' he reminded him. 'Be ready to bring your men up when mine break through.'

'They'll be ready, just make sure you're still alive when we get there,' he said with a bombastic smile.

'You doubt me my old friend.'

'You? Never.'

Ned then nodded at a man holding a horn who blew it and, at the command, every archer and crossbowman in the army stepped forwards and began to let loose a storm of arrows through the air, crashing into the sand dune, passing over it and forcing the enemy musketeers to seek cover. The bombardment kept going, never stopping and Ned knew that while this would use up almost all of their arrows, it was the only way of taking the dune.

'Let's go,' he said to Theon who repeated the order and together they led the shotgunners up the dune.

'Fix bayonets!' Greatjon shouted and the riflemen began to advance up the dune without the threat of enemy fire.

'Are you alright?' he asked Theon as they went up, Ned holding his revolver ready.

'Of course,' he responded, a determination set in his face.

'Good.'

'These may be my people,' he went on, 'but they can't be allowed to go unpunished.'

Ned nodded with some pride at this declaration and he thought of Jon again, the word was that he had killed Jaime Lannister, and if it was true then he had never felt so proud of the boy, no, the man.

They reached near the top of the dune, just a few meters from where the arrows were impacting the sand. This was not a safe place to be but the risk was a necessary one to win the battle. Looking along the dune he saw the riflemen had advanced as well, two ranks deep and with their large bayonets fixed. Down at the bottom of the dune he saw Greatjon with two thousand infantry, all heavily armed, and ready to attack once he had opened the way while along the base of the dune thousands of spearmen stood ready for a general advance, behind them were the cannons, ready to be pulled up to the top of the dune to fire down on the enemy.

Ned reached into his belt and pulled out a red cloth and waved it in the air as a signal to the officers below to order the archers to stop shooting. About a minute later they did so and Ned began to rush forwards, Theon leading the shotgunners behind him while the riflemen prepared to fire again. A few seconds before Ned reached the top of the dune the Ironborn musketeers stood up again and, in shock at seeing the Northerners so close, they didn't fire, just stunned.

Ned fired off a shot from his revolver into the closest one while, all around him, the shotgunners let out a volley, at this range the powerful weapons tore apart the Ironborn. The riflemen fired at the close range before reloading and a horn was blown, ordering an advance along the whole length of the dune.

He charged onto the top of the dune with his revolver and fired three more times, striking down every Ironborn he saw, before jabbing the barrel of the pistol into the eye of another man, kicked him away and fired once more before holstering the weapon, drawing Ice and sliced a man from collar bone to hip. All around him his men and the Ironborn fought in hand to hand combat, bayonets shredding flesh and bullets tearing through armour and bone.

…

On the _Black Wind,_ Asha Greyjoy looked back on the beach with disappointment. The invasion of the North had been going so well, but the Moat Cailin garrison had held, allowing Ned Stark to lead his army home and the retreat to the Rills. This had been a disaster and now it looked like the dune had been taken, she could see fighting along its top and now and in some places the Northerners were breaking through. If she had to guess there were still three thousand Ironborn on the beach waiting to board the ships.

'That's it, we're done,' she said to her crew in general.

'What's the plan?' asked Quarl.

'We get out of here,' she said as she saw other long ships around them already retreating.

'Understood,' said Grimtounge and began shouting the command to the oarsmen.

'How many men have been picked up?' asked Quarl.

'All but around three thousand. We have enough to lick our wounds and come back later.'

'So it's not a complete loss. That's something at least.'

'I just hope Victarion got back to his ship.'

'I'm sure he did.'

It was then she heard it, just over the sounds of fighting in the distance, the sea and the rigging and the oars. A distant whooshing, drumming on and on again and again.

'What's that?' asked someone when it happened.

A long ship nearby exploded, fire tearing it apart and sending planks and men flying into the air. Another instantly exploded afterwards and then a pillar of water rose into the sky.

'What's going on?' Quarl asked as more ships began to explode and Yara looked out to see and, in the distance, she saw them. Ships, maybe a dozen or so, there about two miles away.

'Farosi warships!' she shouted in rage, knowing what it meant. 'Bring us around and attack! Now!'

Her oarsmen followed the order, other captains nearby had the same idea and there was a rush as dozens of Ironborn ships began a mad rush towards the enemy, hoping to get to the enemy.

Asha stood on the bow of her ship, gripping onto the guard rail, and looking at the tall enemy ships, their sides bristling with cannons. The side flashed again and Asha ducked as around her ships tall columns of water leapt into the sky and other ships were flashed out of existence. She survived that volley and she drew her sword, pointing it towards the enemy.

'More speed! Bowmen ready!'

The cannons fired again and Yara was thrown off her feet by a gush of water which was launched up directly in front of her ship. The vessel lurched and buckled as a painful creaking groaning filled the air.

'We've been holed!' Cromm shouted and Yara looked to the deck as water began to fill her vessel.

'Abandon ship!' Yara ordered and, as quickly as she could, wriggled out of her mail shirt and leaped into the water.

…

On the deck of his ship, Admiral Greenman smiled as he relived one of his most famous exploits. Once again he was fighting the Ironborn, the cannons roaring and longships being torn apart.

'A most excellent display,' he commented to the crew and then turned to Brevet Admiral Gerik. 'Order the frigates to attack, they'll mop up these thugs.'

'Yes sir,' he responded and walked towards the man operating the flags.

Grenman pulled his telescope to his eye and watched the smaller enemy ships being torn apart in single hit or, in the cases of the smallest ones, being thrown onto their sides in the water by a missed shot.

…

Ned walked along the beach an hour later as his men dragged Ironborn out of the water and tied their hands with rope before sending them on to the prisoner area nearby. The sudden appearance of the Farosi was something he had not been expecting and, at first, he felt terror at their appearance, fearing that they would fire on his men as well as the Ironborn but, fortunately, their attention was fixed on the raiders. He looked to the sea and saw several smaller Farosi ships sitting there while they released smaller boats to take prisoners.

A much larger ship was also fairly close to the shore and it had lowered a trio of larger boats, they were now sailing directly towards the shore. Each of them also had a massive Farosi flag hanging off of the rear so he guessed they were important. That is why Ned, with Theon, Greatjon and fifty riflemen, they took position on the beach at where the boats would probably land. As they came closer he could see that each boat was packed with men, probably an armed escort.

'Should we shoot them?' asked Greatjon.

'No,' he answered. 'If they wanted us dead they'd have started bombarding us.'

'I suppose so. I still don't trust the fuckers.'

'Neither do I, but they aided us here and I want to hear what they have to say.'

Not long after that the boats reached the shore and then men within jumped off. Each of them wore a light blue version of the normal Farosi uniform and carried rifles similar to the ones Jon and his men used. Out of the lead boat stepped out a tall man with a typical Farosi moustache and a slender sword at his waist, a Farosi naval hat on his head.

'Lord Stark,' he said to him.

'That's who I am.'

'Yes I recognised you.'

'We've met before?' Ned asked, wondering where he met this man.

'Years ago at Casterly Rock, we spoke briefly. I am Lord Admiral Greenman, the commander of this fleet.'

'Greenman?' he asked, now remembering him. 'Yes, your ship was there when the Lannister fleet was sunk.'

'Indeed. After seeing how these cutthroats behaved there, I am glad to return the favour yet again.'

'I thank you for your assistance here.'

'I was just following my orders, including one that says that I must speak with you.'

'On whose behalf?'

'Her Royal Highness, the Princess Radwen.'

'I don't see what there is to talk about. We are at war and it will not end until Farsos is defeated.'

Greenman let out a short chuckle at that before handing Ned a small sheet of parchment.

'Either way, the princess wishes to speak with you, I', not sure why Lord Stark, but if you meet her at this place, she has a series of proposals for you.'

'Unless it's her surrender I have little to say to her.'

'Just hear her out. There is one other matter, my men have been pulling Ironborn out of the water but we don't have the facilities to keep them prisoner. Will you be willing to take them?'

'Aye we will.'

'Thank you. I just wish we could have got their admiral but it looks like his ship managed to escape. That reminds me, one of our prisoners is a young woman, claiming to be the daughter of Balon Greyjoy.'

'Asha?' Theon asked, clearly shocked.

'You know her?' Greenman asked and Ned answered for him.

'Theon Greyjoy is my ward, Asha is his sister.'

'Oh yes I remember, that was a term of the Ironborn surrender wasn't it? We'll have her and the others transferred to you. Until we meet again Lord Stark.'

'Until then,' the two of them shook hands before Greenman returned to his boat.

Once they had rowed a short distance until they were out of ear shot, Greatjon looked at Ned.

'Lord Stark, I don't trust that fucker.'

'I don't know if we can either,' he answered and then looked at the note he had been given.

 _Lord Stark, I know full well that you have no desire to speak with me at the moment considering the circumstances we find ourselves in. I hope that Admiral Greenman has displayed to you the commitment of Farsos to the preservation of innocent lives. Either way, I wish to speak with you at the Ruins of Grey Hearth. Send a Raven to King's Landing to let me know when you are ready._

 _Yours Sincerely_

 _HRH Radwen, Princess of Farsos and Heir to the Emerald and Iron Thrones._

'It's in the princesses hand,' he told Greatjon and handed it to him.

'I don't trust her.'

'Neither do I, completely, but I don't think she'd want to assassinate me, it's not her character.'

'Greatjon's right, Lord Stark,' said Theon. 'We can't trust the Farosi, the last time you did they took King's Landing.'

'I will meet with her,' he told them. 'Still, if she tries to kill me, we'll kill her.'

 **AN: Thank you for the reviews in the last chapter and I hope you all enjoyed this one. Have a great day and please review.**


	16. Chapter 16

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: Warning, suggestive content later in this chapter. Reader discretion is advised.**

Chapter Sixteen

The Matter of Kingship

The orchard was abandoned, the house of whichever farmer worked it was a burnt out shell. Still, there were some apples on the trees and Arya looked over her shoulder to Hot Pie and Gendry, both of them crouching amongst some undergrowth.

'It's all clear,' she told them and then they climbed over the drystone wall around the orchard, Hot Pie holding a sack and Gendry started picking apples while Arya started grabbing any off the ground.

'Remember, if you see anyone, speak up,' Gendry reminded them both.

'We know,' Hot Pie responded as he held the sack open.

'How much longer do you think until we reach Riverrun?' Gendry asked Arya.

'Not sure,' she answered. We just keep following the river until we reach the castle.'

'You're sure we'll be welcome there?' Hotpie asked her.

'Of course we will. It's my mother's home.'

She also hoped that she was right about that. If her mother wasn't there she would be in trouble and they'd need to find somewhere else to go, they'd need to head North and it would not be an easy journey.

'Did you hear that?' Arya asked when she heard a stick snapping.

'I did,' Gendry agreed and they looked around, not seeing anything but hearing the sounds of horses.

'Hide,' Arya said and they ran towards the ruined house, hiding behind the wall and crouching as low as they could into the rubble while they waited, Arya looking through a small hole in the wall across the orchard.

She was expecting to see Lannister soldiers, over the past few days a lot of them, their armour battered and scuffed, had been wondering around looting farms and villages. However, what she wasn't expecting were ten men on horseback, not wearing the red of the Lannisters but the long black coats.

'Farosi,' she whispered to Gendry.

'Shit.'

The Farosi climbed off of their horses and began to look around, knocking over piles of stones and dead plants or abandoned baskets.

'What are they doing?' whispered Hot Pie.

'They're looking for something,' she guessed.

'You?' asked Gendry.

'Probably.'

'Then let's get out of here.'

'I wouldn't do that.'

Arya spun around, grabbing a stone to defend herself but, at the other end of the ruin, she saw two men who had, somehow, entered the house without making a noise. Each of them wore the long black coats and carried their strange rifles.

'Arya Stark?' asked one of them, an older one with three pips on his shoulder.

'No I'm not.'

'Yes you are my dear,' he said as he walked closer. 'I saw you several times at the Red Keep and I'm very good with faces. Now, my dear, I'm afraid you're going to have to come with us.'

'You're not touching her,' Gendry said and stood between them while the other Farosi from outside had closed in.

'Young man,' the leader said to Gendry, 'there is no need for violence here. We've come to collect you.'

'Me?' Arya asked.

'Well, technically you and Gendry here. As for your friend,' he said and reached into his belt, pulling out his revolver and looked at Hotpie. 'I see no reason to bring him with us.'

'NO!' she screeched and made to grab at the gun but Gendry stopped her and dragged Arya behind him, putting himself in front of Gendry as well to protect  
everyone.

'Lieutenant,' said one of the others, 'there is no need to kill the boy.'

'There is no point bringing him along.'

'He's not even worth the bullet,' the man shot back. 'The True Queen would never support this action.'

'Well,' the Lieutenant said slowly, considering his actions at the mention of the Farosi goddess, 'I agree. We'll have to bring him with us then.'

'Where?' Arya demanded.

'To King's Landing,' he told them. 'You and Gendry both. We have plans for you.'

…

Jon smiled as he leaned back in his chair while his troopers, most of them had survived the battle, sat around cheering to their success and to Jon's recovery. Although it had been a few days since he'd left the infirmary the surgeon had told him to not do anything too stressful. In Jon's opinion having a night of celebration and drinking with his men was not stressful at all.

'You're doing good sir,' Osoni told him and poured him another glass of wine.

'I'm glad you think so. Still, I've got a bad feeling.'

'About what sir?' asked Hensin.

Jon grinned and held up his glass.

'That if we keep taking from King Robert's wine cellar, he's going to rise from the dead and stop us.'

That won another round of laughter from his men which echoed around the small common room in the Red Keep which they had occupied for their party.

'I'm not afraid of ghosts,' Osoni declared and finished his own glass. 'They're scared of me.'

'I dread to think why,' Hensin responded and then let out a yawn. 'What time is it anyway?'

'It's,' Jon answered and looked at his watch. 'Almost midnight.'

'We'd better all get to bed then,' said Osoni and then cleared his throat. 'Alright Troopers, bed time or I'll have you on cleaning duty.'

At that the troopers got up out of their chairs and made their way towards the exit, Osoni waiting until only he and Jon were still left.

'Aren't you going, Captain?' he asked Jon.

'I'm going to give them a minute.'

'Are you alright?'

'I'll be fine. Do you think I deserved this?' he asked and pointed to the three pips on each shoulder.

'Of course you do. You're the best officer I've served under in years.'

'That's comforting. Still, I'm not sure I actually earned this.'

'Lowhill left some big boots to fill, that's for sure, but I can't think of anyone more qualified. This is coming from someone who never finished school mind you.'

'I never went to school until Whitestone. I was tutored by Maester Luwin.'

'You were still taught better than I was. Sir, you earned your promotion and you deserved it.'

'I just think, you know what, never mind. I'll be back at the barracks soon.'

'Very well sir. Good night.'

He saluted him and crisply left the room while Jon remained in his chair, holding his wine glass.

'Here's to you Captain Lowhill,' he said and finished it before standing up and leaving himself.

However, Jon had barely been walking for a minute when he was approached in the corridor by a young woman.

'Captain Snow, sir?' she asked.

'Can I help you?'

'Yes, I'm one of Princess Radwen's servants. She wants to speak to you.'

'Now?'

'Yes sir, she does.'

'Alright, I'll head to her chambers.'

'Thank you, sir.'

She then left, not in the direction of Radwen's room, so Jon headed up there by himself. There were very few people in the corridors except for the occasional guard or cleaner so he was mostly undisturbed, although when he passed one of the Westerosi staff members they looked at him with a new level of respect. They had all heard what he did, he was the one who killed the Kingslayer.

When he reached Radwen's chambers he was surprised to see no guards at the door, there were usually two there at all times. He knocked on the door and a moment later Radwen's voice responded.

'Come in Jon.'

It was warm inside Radwen's room as the princess herself, clad in a night dress and a green dressing gown, was sat on one of her chairs, looking over some papers, her reading glasses on her nose.

'You wanted to see me?' he asked her.

'Yes. I'm glad you're feeling better.'

'So am I. Are you alright?'

'I'm perfectly healthy, please sit down.'

Jon was about to sit in the settee next to Radwen but reconsidered it, taking up a position in an arm chair.

'We've hardly spoken since you got out of the infirmary,' she stated.

'We've both been busy.'

'True but I should have made more time. We are engaged after all. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, I'm sorry Jon. I had no right to be as angry as I was.'

'You had every right. I shouldn't have kept the secret from you.'

'So, we're on speaking terms again?'

'Of course.'

'Good. About your parenthood, I believe that it would be wise to inform my father.'

'What for?'

'Because he's your king, and on top of that this could give us a more legitimate claim, depending on the full circumstances of your birth. We know that House Targaryen has practice bigamy in the past so there is a good chance that your father took Lady Lyanna as a second wife. If that's the case then yes, you have a claim stronger than Renly's. If Lyanna became you father's mistress and you're still a bastard then you can be made legitimate by a stroke of a pen, either way we have an advantage. I want the question answered though before we inform King Lukon, so I think we should send a raven to Old Town, hopefully the Military Police can look through the records for anything about them. I refuse to believe that no one wrote anything about it.'

'Radwen, I don't know if we should tell him. He might see me as a threat to his rule over Westeros. If Renly learns that my father hid the truth for all these years, it would mean he'd be seen as a traitor.'

'I didn't think of that. Alright, the solution is obvious, we kill Renly and then we reveal the truth. While Renly lives, the war will go on.'

'It looks that way.'

'Still, I'd rather have the proof, just in case.'

'I suppose there's no harm in looking. Can we trust the Military Police to keep this secret?'

'Of course, we can. They're spies, sworn to the throne.'

'Exactly, they're not sworn to you, they're sworn to the throne.'

'I see you're point. Alright, we'll let the matter lay for now, until we in the war. I also have good news about your friend Tarly.'

'Good news?'

'Yes, we're dropping the charge of treason against him.'

'Why?' he asked, though he was overjoyed at it.

'We did another search of his room at the embassy and we found a letter of resignation, citing a, and I am quoting the letter here, "a moral dilemma between His Majesty and countryman", legally that's a valid reason to resign on short notice so we have no legal cause for prosecution.'

'That's lucky for him then.'

'Indeed. Is there anything else you have planned tonight?'

'No, I was going to head back to the barracks to get some sleep.'

'Good,' she said and stood up. 'We're to be married Jon and, I think I,' she then stopped, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red, 'I think I might just love you.'

'I think I do too,' Jon agreed and also stood up. 'You're a beautiful woman Radwen, and clever too. I should never have been lucky enough to meet you.'

'I suppose we both just got lucky then.'

The two of them stood there for a few seconds which felt like hours in Jon's mind until he put his hands around Radwen's waist and pulled her close to him, their lips connecting together and Radwen's right sneaked its way around the back of Jon's neck.

'You know,' she said, her voice low, barely above a whisper, 'my door has very good locks.'

'Interesting,' he responded, liking the way this was going and keeping his voice playful. 'Why would we need to lock them though?'

'Because I don't like the idea of being walked in on while we're not wearing anything.'

At that Jon kissed Radwen again as she removed her dressing gown.

…

About an hour or so later Jon rolled onto his back, his breathing deep and slow, while Radwen settled her head on his chest, her arms stretching across Jon's chest and his scars while her eyes were peacefully half closed. Jon wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her closer to him and Radwen responded by nesting even closer.

Neither said anything, neither of them needed to, Jon absentmindedly running his hand through Radwen's locks as they remained together.

'I wish you could stay the whole night,' Radwen then spoke, breaking the spell which had held them together.

'So do I,' he answered her. 'It's been a night to remember though.'

'That's one way of saying it,' she answered and moved so she was laying on her side, for a moment holding the sheets up over her chest but ultimately deciding not to bother, and looking straight at Jon. 'It's a night I'll never forget.'

Jon then hungrily kissed her, pulling her closer to him again.

'Just how much trouble are we in if anyone finds out about this?'

'Did you ever hear about the Royal Collection at First Sight Zoo?'

'No.'

'Let's just say we've had a few very large creatures in there for years,' she then flashed a smile and Jon gulped. 'Don't worry though, no one will find out.'

'What if you get pregnant from this?'

'I've been taking Green Draught for a few days now,' she explained. 'It's much better than Moon Tea and much less dangerous. Relax Jon, we're safe.'

'Were you planning this?' he asked, wondering if Radwen hadn't planned out everything to happen in the world for the next decade.

'I just like to be prepared.'

'So if you were thinking about this, were you worried about getting caught? Was that why you sent the guards away?'

'No, I sent them away because they deserve a night off and I didn't want anyone to overhear us talking about your parents. Besides, I was more worried about you realising I've been wearing a padded corset all this time.'

'I didn't notice,' he said and had an idea. 'If you want I could check properly.'

'Rogue,' she remarked as Jon began to kiss her neck, slowly moving down to her collar bone. 'Ten minutes and then you'd better head back before you're really missed. Oh. Well, you know, maybe fifteen actually. Or twenty.'

Radwen felt quite content at that moment, her eyes closed as she allowed Jon to have his fun. She knew of course that this was risky, even with the Green Draught, but it was certainly worth it.

Then there came a heavy knock at the door.

Jon sat up at once, as did Radwen in terror at the thought that someone had discovered them. Radwen jumped out of bed, feeling Jon's eyes on her body, and looked out the door into the main room, looking to the still locked door.

'Who is it?' she asked.

'Colonel Donnah,' the old mans voice answered.

'Just give me a minute,' she told him and hurried over to the settee where she picked up her night dress and dressing gown, Jon joining her to gather his own clothes which were scattered there.

'What do we do?' she whispered, now panicking.

'I don't know. I'll hide under the bed.'

'Alright, go, now.'

She then quickly kissed him one last time as she tried to button up her night dress as quickly as possible, normally she had one of her ladies maids helping her with this, and then put on her dressing gown, ran her fingers through her hair so it didn't look so wild, and looked back in the bedroom, not seeing Jon anywhere. Hopefully Donnah wouldn't realise, though why would he go into her bedroom anyway?

She opened the door and allowed the old man, wearing his own dressing gown and night cap, to enter her chambers.

'I'm sorry that I woke you up at this hour, Your Highness.'

'I was awake actually,' she said absentmindedly.

'Trouble sleeping?'

'Yes, I've been tossing and turning for hours,' she managed to not smile as she said it, it wasn't a lie either.

'I see. I didn't think this could wait until morning, Your Highness, but we just received a raven from Sun Spear.'

'The Dornish? What about?'

He handed her the paper from the raven and she took it, reading it several times to make sure she wasn't making it up, and then she smiled.

 _To Her Highness Princess Radwen of Farsos_

 _In my capacity as Prince of Dorn, I Doran Martell, hereby propose an agreement between our peoples. I do not want to see my lands torn apart by war which is why I offer Farsos the allegiance of Dorn. There are conditions, which shall be brought to you by my brother, Oberyn Martell, who travels with your own brother aboard his ship as we speak. Should you agree, let me know by raven and I trust in my brother to negotiate with you._

 _Doran Martell, Prince of Dorn. Unbound, Unbent, Unbroken._

She looked up at Donnah and she grinned.

'Excellent news. Most excellent news.'

'I disagree. We need this land to submit, their armies broken. If the Dornish are able to negotiate a way out of fighting us, we could have a potential new enemy to deal with later on.'

'Which of us has the authority to decide what our diplomatic policy is?' she asked him.

'You do, I am required to advise you, and my advice is to ensure their submission.'

'The Dornish aren't fond of submitting to anything.'

'I am aware of that, Your Highness, and considering Prince Oberyn's reputation, well, you should be ready for an interesting negotiation.'

'What is it you're implying?'

'Nothing at all, Your Highness, but I'll advise you to be cautious. I'll see you in the morning.'

He then left, Radwen locking the door behind him again before looking at the message again, leaving it on the table before walking back into the bedroom.

'It's safe now,' she told Jon and he crawled out from under the bed, now wearing his underwear.

'What was it?'

'The Dornish want to negotiate with us,' she explained.

'Well that's good,' he responded and sat next to her on the bed.

'I know, and now I have a new project, negotiating an alliance with Dorn,' she then flashed Jon a grin. 'This is going to be fun.'

'Give me an army to fight any day.'

'Like we agreed, you handle the army, I'll handle the politics. So, would you like to continue your inspection, Captain?'

She then unfastened the top button on her nightie.

'No I need to get back,' he said and started putting on the rest of his clothes.

'Shame,' she told him. 'I was hoping for a little longer.'

'Another night then?' he asked, his tone said that he absolutely wanted to do this again.

'Certainly.'

Once he was dressed again, Radwen gave Jon one more kiss before he left, Radwen laid down on her bed for a while, smiled contentedly for a while and then went away into a very gentle sleep.

…

The next morning as Jon got dressed in his room he whistled a light tune while Ghost looked on. After he hung his sword at his waist he went into the man room where he Troopers slept and saw that they were all dressed as well.

'Alright Segeant,' he said to Osoni, 'guard duty again, we'll be on the walls of Maegor's Holdfast.'

'Yes sir,' he responded and then a slight smile appeared on his face. 'Sir,' he said quietly, 'you weren't back until after two in the morning. I hope you didn't get waylaid too hard.'

The look on his face suggested that he suspected what Jon had been doing last night.

'Carry on Sergeant,' he said to quickly end it.

'Yes sir,' he then cleared his throat. 'Alright boys, guard duty, and if anyone takes their eyes off the walls they'll be going into battle with a rusty spoon and a pair of boot laces. Move it up!'

 **AN: Well, that was awkward. I know I'm not the best at writing romance but I thought I should try it. Anyway, here's the latest chapter and soon, oh boy, soon we have something big coming.**

 **Also, that will take a while due to the scale of what I have in mind, plus I'll be dealing with the next chapter of John Ship: PI before then, and I'll be restarting uni soon so, well, yeah. Updates may be a bit sporadic, then again I seem to be most creative when I have  
more important stuff to do so, yeah, my update schedule will be as reliable as whoever is meant to be in charge of dealing with Brexit. See ya next time folks!**

 **Tertius711: We shall see, he, ha, ha, ah, ha!**

 **Puffgirl 1952 the 2** **nd** **: I hope this gave you an idea of what Arya's been up to, and as for what the Military Police have planned for her and Gendry, we'll see.**


	17. Chapter 17

The Princesses War

I own nothing but my OC's

 **AN: Before we begin, I ask you all to look up Shadiversity on Youtube who has made a 3D model of Winterfell loyal to the books and it is fantastic. Seriously, I wish that is what they used for the show.**

 **Also, I appreciate all feedback but I must ask that if anyone has any info regarding the lore of ASOIAF that takes up a lot of space, please send it in a private message. The last chapter received two reviews which were just that, all of which I knew already. I appreciate the fact that we enjoy sharing knowledge of a world we all love, but please keep the reviews focused on the content of this fanfic unless you feel that I have made a major lore mistake. Thank you.**

Chapter Seventeen

The Battle of Watsend Part One

The fortifications were ready, they had been ready for two days but Hassan didn't care. Right now all his attention was on the game of Dignity he and the rest of the squad were playing. Fives was the most popular game played by the Farosi army, it was simple and quick. There was a deck of cards, each of which was marked by a weapon and a number. The weapon was worth a certain number of points plus whatever number was also on the card. In Hassan's hand he had two spears, each spear worth five points, one also had the number three and the other number one, a cannon, worth ten points plus the extra two points, and a revolver, worth six points plus the extra ten on the card, giving him forty two points, a good hand but one which could be must better. In this game, winning directly was not always the most important factor, though the winner would take the lions share of the money, anyone who humbly backed out with dignity, hence the name, would get a cut of the prize depending on how high their total was. The officers encouraged the men to play this game to teach them humility, although it was just the easiest game for men, many of whom were borderline illiterate, to play while on the march.

Hassan looked at his opponents, three of them had already backed out leaving him and two others still playing. One was Corporal Taff and the other was Private Walking. Goonlin was one of the men who had already backed out. The final turn was about to begin, the fifth turn where he would get his fifth card, the card which would decide if he would win or lose, and this was his last chance to back out. You could not give up when the fifth card was drawn. He shook his head and placed his cards face down on the low table set up on the grass below the walls of Watsend amidst their camp.

'I'm out.'

'Fair enough,' said Walking. 'What about you Corporal? Are you still in?'

'Bloody well am Walking.'

'Let's do it then sir.'

Both men drew their last card and then displayed their cards face up, Goonlin letting out a slow whistle when he saw the results. Taff had three cannons, one marked nine, another eight and a third four. He also had a Lance, worth five plus the nine in its corner, and the final card was a revolver worth six plus the 3 in its corner giving him seventy four points. Walking let out a low curse, his cards came to seventy three.

After that everyone who had given up revealed their own cards and Private Harp had been the one who had the highest of them so he got a tenth of the winnings.

'Gambling, gentlemen?'

They all looked to the source of the voice and stood up in respect when they saw it was Priestess Carla, the head Priestess of the 87th Regiment.

'Oh erm, just passing the time,' Corporal Taff explained.

'It's alright. I was thinking about joining you good men.'

'You were?' asked Hassan, surprised.

'I was thinking about it, Private. I only became a priestess on a dare. I don't think I will join you though. I do expect to see you all at my service in the morning.'

'Of course,' Taff responded and bowed slightly as she began to walk away.

…

The next morning, as they agreed, most of the men in the brigade had made their way down to the little stream which, in all reality, marked the furthest point of expansion for Farsos so far. All temples dedicated to the True Queen had water in them, be it a small pool or fountain to the great mountain lake of the Highest Temple. When outdoors a Priestess had to make do by setting up near a source of water, be that a well or in this case the stream. Someone had borrowed a cart from one of the local farmers and, with a bit of work, it had been made into a pulpit for Priestess Carla which she stood on with enough dignity that it almost resembled a throne. Her robes were light blue and on her head was a cloth crown of the same blue as her robes. Behind her, on its hill far on the other side of the stream, was a castle and she seemed like a giant against it.

'As our True Queen has told us,' she said as Hassan found a comfortable place to sit in the field, he was near the back, almost sitting next to the tall hedge there, with Goonlin and Walking next to him, 'we must show respect to all of our friends in this land. Never has it been said that she is the only divine power in this world, though she is the divine ruler of Farsos and all Farosi. We must live in harmony with those who follow the Seven, if any of them wish to worship the True Queen as well, I am happy for them. But I say this to the fanatic, to the zealot, that any who is forced to worship Her, is no true believer and the one who forces the innocent to worship is worst, the lowest, the foulest of sinner! Last night I talked to Septon Howal, who resides in the Sept of Watsend, and he told me that no Westerosi would live under a King or Queen who does not worship the Seven. That is the problem with this land, the problem we are here to fix, to bring about understanding between all the peoples of this world and who is more understanding, more tolerant, than us? The ones who choose to worship the True Queen?'

At that there was a round of applause from the men, Hassan included.

'Lovely words,' Walking whispered to Hassan.

'I know, beautiful.'

'As for the question of does our Queen approve of this war,' she continued, 'well, why wouldn't she approve of this war? The people of Westeros have lived under the heel of tyrants for millennia and now we set out on a glorious crusade of mercy to liberate them! Naturally, we have proof of this,' she then paused, allowing the tension to build up. 'The proof of this, it is the fact that we have far more guns!'

That won a round of applause and laughter from the men, the other priestesses around the cart also laughing.

The laughter was stopped though by a distant gunshot, sounding like it was coming from far away. The men looked at each other confused, no one was supposed to be shooting for another hour and the officers weren't going out hunting that day.

'What's that?' Hassan asked Corporal Taff who was sitting in front of him.

'Not sure,' he answered, his hand reaching for his rifle on the ground next to him.

'A misfire,' Walking suggested.

'No,' said Goonlin. 'It came from north of here.'

As he said it there came another gunshot, and then an entire volley of them.

'That's no bloody misfire,' Taff said and stood up, rifle in hand, as did the other NCO's.

Just then it came. The sudden, quick blasts of the bugle declaring that it was time to stand to arms.

'Stand to!' Taff shouted as did everyone else over the rank of corporal.

'Come on boys get up!' someone else shouted.

Hassan was on his feet in a flash, helping Goonlin as he did so and in every direction there was chaos as men in blue uniforms rushed about forming into their platoons while officers tried to keep order. Eventually they managed to form up, Hassan holding his rifle at slope arms while Lieutenant Snowhill, his officer, inspected them briefly. He didn't look like he knew what was going on though.

As they were doing this the gunshots kept coming.

And then came Brigadier Prensk, usually the Colonel of the 87th but now in command of the operations around Watsend. He was on his horse and he rode past the ranks of his men, passing Hassan but not looking at him.

'Attention men!' he declared. 'Our scouts have encountered a Westerosi army marching on us as we speak.'

At that there was a low murmur of excitement.

'The Light Horse are slowing them down but we may have less than an hour to be ready. Our reinforcements will not be here for hours and we don't have enough men to man all the defences so we will scatter along the stream and fight a skirmish action when they arrive. Your captains have been briefed, they know what to do. Now men, fight for the Crown, the Senate and the People of Farsos!'

'Crown! Senate! People!'

Hassan, and everyone else, let out a short, sharp cheer while he felt excitement at the idea of another battle, a chance for revenge. No one spoke though as their officers led them at a jog to where they would skirmish against the enemy. For Hassan's platoon it was by Stone Bridge, an unimaginative name for sure, but one which fit it. It was a large bridge for the small stream and was part of the main road running north to south, past Watsend and then down to Old Town. On either side of the road by the bridge were drystone walls and hedges, the same alone the whole stream. Hassan was crouching behind a wall by the road, right next to the bridge, his rifle in hand. Looking around him the others were just the same and, behind him, along the stream front, were other soldiers, scattered every six feet or so. More were clustered around key areas though.

'Steady boys,' said Snowhill, revolver in hand as he moved behind the men at a crouch.

As he spoke, there was another volley of shots, this time much closer.

Hassan looked up the hill towards Watsend, the walls around the town looking much taller on the hill and Farosi banners were flying atop them. The fortifications made outside of the town however looked feeble and lonely, meant to be held by thousands of men, only a few hundred of the garrison occupied them, moving along at a steady pace.

The town of Watsend sat on top of a flat hill, about two thirds of it by the town itself, the remaining third, the eastern part, was flat and open, used for town fairs and the like. East of that, connected to the flat hill, was a taller hill topped by a windmill, they called it Millers Hill for that reason. In the windmill he saw the flash of a telescope. To the west of Watsend was a wood of small, evergreen trees, cut in half by a stream which went north to loin the main stream, and est of the woods was another hill topped by another windmill, this one called Little Millers Hill, again, very imaginative. While on the walls of Watsend a few days earlier he had noticed that the stream, while shallow, had steep banks which could make a crossing slow, and the three bridges across it, Skinny Bridge in the west just north of Little Millers Hill, Stone Bride, which Hassan was at in the centre of the battlefield, and low bridge on the eastern side.

The fortifications had been built to form one long defensive line reaching from Little Millers Hill, across the front of the wood, to the walls of Watsend which served at the centre of the line, and then onto the flat hill and then onto Millers Hill. Their four guns were positioned evenly, half on each hill on the flanks. There was also a sunken lane between Watsend and Stone Bridge but they hadn't done anything to fortify it, and, if he remembered right, Skinny Bridge also had a walled farmhouse next to it which he saw some men going into when the order to prepare for battle had been given.

'You alright lad?' asked Corporal Taff.

'I'll live, I hope.'

'You better. We can't afford another loss.'

'Silence in the ranks,' hissed Sergeant Dommel.

'Sorry sir.'

At that they were silent again until there came another volley, this one much closer and it was followed by a rumbling noise as horse hooves thundered across the bridge and then onto the road on the other side of the wall.

'They're right behind us!' shouted one of the riders in an accent from Farsos.

'Prepare,' said Snowhill.

Hassan gripped his rifle tighter as the riders passed and then there came another rumble, drawing closer and closer. They were on the bridge, then on the bridge, then on the otherside of the wall. For almost a full minute they went by until Snowhill rose up from behind the wall, revolver in hand.

'FIRE!' he boomed and Hassan stood up, pulled his rifle back into his shoulder and found himself looking at maybe a hundred or so Westerosi cavalry in full armour, all stunned by being suddenly surrounded.

Hassan pulled the trigger and fired a shot straight at the breastplate of a knight, the bullet smashed through the steel and the rider was thrown from his horse, alone with dozens of his peers as the Farosi on both sides of the road tore them apart in moments.

'Hands up!' Snowhill shouted to the few survivors who were in the midst of drawing their swords, maces and other weapons. 'Surrender and you won't be harmed!'

'Death to foreign bastards!' one of the knights shouted and raised his sword, only to be cut down by a shot from Snowhill.

Hassan had reloaded his rifle and aimed again at one of the survivors, fired and killed him. The others were doing the same and in less than a minute dozens of knights were dead, one or two had surrendered while their horses were running amok along the road or back over the bridge.

'Well done boys,' Snowhill complimented his men. 'They won't be taken unawares again. Form a line in front of the bridge.'

'You heard the officer, move it you little bastards!' the Sergeant roared.

Hassan did as he was told and he found himself before the bridge, in the middle of the road, shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the platoon. It was then that he heard the cannons starting to fire and he looked in front of him. Over the bridge and on the other side of the stream he could see one of the low lying hills and, advancing over them, he could see the long columns of Renly's forces moving into position. By now they must have realised that they were about to fight a full battle and were obviously preparing to attack.

'How many of them are there?' asked Walking.

'Thousands,' Hassan whispered. 'Thousands of them.'

'We've got guns,' Waling reminded himself.

'Our ammunition run out,' Hassan said grimly and then looked at his rifle, then at his cartridge case. 'Their bloody swords don't.'

'Silence in the ranks,' Snowhill ordered them. 'Need I remind why you were issued with a bayonet, private?'

'No sir. Sorry sir.'

'Good. Now,' he said and addressed the whole platoon, standing three ranks deep across the road before the bridge, 'this will be the centre of the enemy attack! They will cross here and we will stand against them!' he then drew his sword. 'Remember your training! Remember the True Queen. Now, let's sit here and kill those ugly barbarians when they come close!'

'Hurrah!' everyone responded, Hassan as well though at that moment he'd have preferred to be anywhere else, not in the centre of their defence.

There was movement before them, enemy soldiers were amassing beyond the bridge, forming into large blocks and then, with the blowing of a horn, they began the advance.

'Looks like we have an entire regiment worth coming at us,' said Snowhill. 'Plenty of targets to go around boys.'

It didn't comfort Hassan, busy trying to remember that he needed to keep up a steady rate of fire. The enemy formation disappeared behind a slight rise in the land for a minute but then re appeared over it before vanishing again behind a row of hedges. Finally they appeared again as if from nowhere, massing on the main road.

'First rank!' declared Sergeant Dommel. 'Kneel!'

Hassan, being in the first rank, kneeled.

'All ranks! Prepare to fire!'

Hassan pulled back the hammer on his rifle and planted a firing cap into the fitting. He was ready.

'First rank! Take aim!'

As he shouted it he saw the Westerosi in front of them stop their march and break into a full on charge. They were about three hundred yards away and closing with every second.

'First rank!' he shouted, rolling the "r". 'FIRE!'

Hassan pulled the trigger and he was surrounded by smoke in less then a second so he couldn't see if he hit his target. Instantly he reached for his cartridge case and began to reload as Dommel gave the orders for the second and then the third rank to fire. Hassan had just fitted his firing cap in when Dommel roared.

'First Rank! Take aim! Fire!'

He fired again, this time the enemy was much closer and, through the thick smoke, he saw the first rank fall only to be trampled by the men behind. Hassan reloaded, pulled out a paper cartridge, bit the bullet, tore the paper with his teeth, poured the powder down the barrel, spat in the bullet, forced it down with his ramrod, pulled a firing cap from the side pocket of the cartridge case, fitted it in to place and pulled the hammer all the way back, and the order came again.

'First rank! Take aim! FIRE!'

Hassan fired again, now the enemy were almost at the bridge. It was a mechanical movement, following the basic drill of firing which had been hammered into him since his training began. The enemy shouting grew louder and louder though, even as the rate of fire remained constant.

'Cease fire!' shouted Dommel. 'Fix bayonets!'

Hassan stood up and clicked his bayonet into place on his rifle.

'Prepare to charge!' Snowhill ordered and came to stand at the head of the platoon, sword in right hand, revolver in left hand, and Dommel next to him, rifle and bayonet ready. Ahead of them the enemy had reached the bridge and were charging over it. 'Charge.'

'CHARGE!' Dommel boomed and Hassan, Walking and all the others let out a cheer, lowered their bayonets, and ran full pace towards the enemy.

Hassan felt the adrenaline pumping through him, dulling his feelings, he could hardly sense the ground under his boots, the wind on his face. All he could feel was the rifle in his hand and the enemy before him. The two sides crashed and Hassan lunged his bayonet at a man armed with a billhook, shield strapped to his back and nasal helm on his head, all that protected his body was a cream gambeson. The man knocked the bayonet tip of out the way with his weapons shaft and then he tried to cut down But Hassan dodged backwards, drew back his bayonet and plunged it into his opponents belly. The gambeson tore apart under Farosi steel and the cream cloth turned crimson. Hassan kicked the man out of the way and then plunged the bayonet into the throat of a man armed with a felling axe.

Then, suddenly, there was no one in front of him. The enemy had started running away and Hassan felt the adrenaline abandoning him, moving onto greener pastures. Before him was a road covered with corpses. Some were still moving, trying to push themselves off the ground or trying to crawl away but many were motionless. None of these men wore the shining suits of armour they had seen in books or paintings, only a fifth by Hassan's guess over wore mail, and some didn't even have helmets of gambesons.

'Reform!' Snowhill ordered and Hassan looked away from the carnage and back towards the bridge where he found himself standing exactly where he had been at the start of this engagement.

Now though there was no smoke and he could see his handiwork while the trickle of water below the bridge slowly began to turn red.

…

General Morsey was a good general, and he knew it. He had fought well in the war against Gwaithol and now he was leading the invasion of Westeros. His carriage rolled along, pulled by a pair of sturdy horses bred on his brothers estate back home. The carriage itself was built to his own design, basically a study and bedroom on wheels, with the bed at one end and a desk in the middle. At the end by the door were a few armchairs, one of which he was relaxed in looking through reports on the expected strength of the enemy. He had read them before but there wasn't much else to do. The Military Police kept the troops in line, the logistics boys kept the men supplied and the medical corps kept them healthy.

Feeling bored he looked out of the window and smiled at the sight all around him. A massive column of wagons pulled by large cart horses, mules weighed down with boxes of ammunition being guided in long lines by Westerosi labourers, squadrons of Heavy Horse riding at a relaxed pace, their armour on the wagons, Light Horsemen flanking the column and cannons being pulled by some of the strongest horses. Of course though, the largest group, were the infantry, marching at a good pace, their rifles in hand and all of them making a vast sea of men in blue coats.

It wasn't easy covering ground, in the Gwaitholi War the islands had a well built system of roads but here in the Reach there were very few large roads and a vast maze of sunken lanes and dirt tracks. Moving sixty thousand men up them was a nightmare and had slowed him down but the Engineers had done a good job and knocking down hedges and trees on the roadside and, thanks to the good weather, they had been able to keep most of the men along the roadside, the mules could go off road but the wagons and cannons had to stay on the road itself otherwise it would be a repeat of the Flight of the Six Thousand.

'Sir,' a voice called and he looked out of the opposite window to see General Tammon of the 22nd Infantry Corps, mounted on his small but swift horse.

'General, how's the advance going?'

'At the current rate we'll be at Watsend in another six hours. There's one other matter though,' he said as he matched the pace of the carriage.

'And what would that be?'

'All my men have lost their gaiters.'

'All of them? There Corps?'

'Yes sir.'

'I don't blame to be honest old boy. They're a waste of cloth to be honest.'

'I know, I just thought you ought to be told.'

'Thank you anyway. Naturally I can never endorse the loss of equipment, but it would be a waste of time looking for them.'

'Indeed.'

'Anyway, six hours. We'll be there in time for a spot of supper wouldn't we?'

'I think so sir.'

'Good, I shot a few pheasants earlier, have someone tell the other officers that we'll have a gaming supper.'

'Just the generals sir?'

'Yes. I appreciate the company of the other officers but I'll always prefer supper with my equals.'

'Good words sir. I'll send my batsman to let them know.'

'Excellent. If that's all I'll see you for supper.'

'Indeed sir,' he agreed and galloped off back towards his own men.

Morsey watched him ride off and then looked at the other men, thousands of them all marching in the same direction with one goal, reaching Watsend and joining with what was left of the Eighth Corps.

The Eighth Corps, his men, the first men to arrive in Westeros, those brave men who captured the Arbor in a day and then stormed the beaches of Oldtown, who had been slaughtered in an ambush. So many of the men had been killed, almost all of them there had been killed, but those who were not present at the ambush were at Watsend. They were his men, he was the commander of the Eighth Corp but he was also in command of the whole invasion. Still, in six hours he would see his men again and then it would be time to hold the position and wait for Renly to come and be slaughtered.

Then the rider came.

He was a cavalryman, Light Horse by the look of him, and his uniform was dusty, the signs of a hard ride. He raced past the carriage before pulling his horse to a stop and then wheeled around to face General Morsey and approached the carriage, keeping at a fast trot to stay at pace with the carriage.

'General Morsey?' he asked.

'I am,' he nodded and looked down at the mans cuffs to see the number twenty four sewn in. 'Twenty Fourth Regiment of Light Horse. You're meant to be at Watsend.'

'I know sir. Brigadier Prensk sent me with this.'

He held out a folded sheet of paper and Morsey took it in hand, the rider keeping up with his carriage as it went along.

The handwriting was bad, clearly written in a hurry, and judging by its content, that was no surprise.

General Morsey, my scouts have located the army of Renly Baratheon. They are advancing on Watsend as we speak, we require urgent reinforcements. Will try to hold as long as possible. Please send help at once.

Brigadier Prensk, 8th Corps.

'By the Throne,' he said and looked over to the nearby bugler, mounted on a horse. 'BUGLER! SOUND THE HALT!'

At once the young man raised his bugle to his lips and blasted out the signals for the army to stop the advance. In moments the other buglers heard it and repeated along the column and in about thirty seconds the army had come to a stop. Then there was movement as the infantry rushed to the sides of the wagon and artillery line, forming skirmish lines in case of enemy attack while the cavalry retreated to amongst the wagons, ready to counter charge an enemy, while this was going on his generals began to arrive. Fancy of the 6th, Robertson of the 7th, Tammon of the 27th, Gekon of the 23rd, Rickmarr of the 33rd, Tips of the 34th, Wago of the 41st, Henn of the 42nd, Roth of the 43rd and Topin of the 44th.

'I just received a message from Brigadier Prensk. Renly's forces have already arrived at Watsend,' as he expected there was an exchange of worried glances from his officers at the news. 'At the moment we are six hours away at the current rate but Prensk's forces will not be able to last that long.'

'Watsend is lost then,' said Fancy. 'We dig in here and prepare for battle.'

'We can't abandon Prensk,' said Gekon. 'The mans my cousin and I won't allow him to butchered by those savages.'

'Besides,' said a new arrival, General Tarr of the Artillery, 'we can't let Renly take the guns we've positioned at Watsend or they'll be turned on us.'

'You honestly expect those primitives to be able to use artillery?' Topin scoffed.

'Three of my artillery officers are from the Foreign Officers Programme, born in this very country, and Renly probably seized manuals and books at the ambush. They can and will use our guns against us you bloody old fool.'

'Don't you dare to speak out of turn to me, artilleryman!' Topin snapped.

'Shut up the pair of you,' Morsey shut them up. 'Tarr is right, we can't let the enemy capture our guns, or the ammunition and rifles at Watsend. General Fancy and the 6th will remain with the wagons and guard them. Everyone else will advance as fast as they can to Watsend. Without those bloody carts slowing us down our infantry can be there in four hours, the Heavy Horse in three and the Light Horse in two and a half.'

'We'll need an hour to unload our supplies,' said Topin, his Corps was made up entirely of Heavy Horse. 'Out armour and lances are still on the wagons. We need the hour.'

'You have half an hour.'

'The Light Horse can be ready to go once we have our extra ammunition,' Rickmar announced. 'Give us twenty minutes.'

'The Light Horse will go first, followed the by the Heavy Horse. Once they go the infantry will follow. When the cavalry arrives at Watsend,' he said and looked at the cavalry officers, Rickmar, Tips, Wago, Henn, Roth and Topin, 'command shall be held by General Tips until I arrive with the infantry.'

'Thank you sir,' Tips said with some pride.

'Then let's get going,' he said and looked at the rider who brought the message. 'Can you make another ride?'

'My horse is exhausted sir.'

'You can have a fresh one. Ride ahead of us all and tell Prensk our plans.'

'Yes sir,' he agreed and a fresh horse was brought for him and he raced away.

At this point Morsey abandoned his carriage and his war horse, Prance, was brought forth. He mounted it after donning his long dark blue cloak and adjusted his hat, by then the Light Horse were galloping towards Watsend and the Heavy Horse were putting on their breast plates and taking their lances. He turned his gaze north and, though he knew it was impossible, he was sure he could hear the fighting already.

…

'Steady lads! Steady!' Snowhill ordered as he fired again, Hassan keeping his head down behind the barricade they had made across their end of the bridge.

It was always harder to reload a Type Four Donley Rifle when laying down behind a barricade, but he had no choice. A volley of shots tore at the stones they had taken from the nearby walls, shards of stone blasting into the air. Hassan peered over the top of the barricade, aimed his weapon at the enemy rifleman at the other side of the bridge and fired. He saw the man go down before Hassan ducked to avoid the return fire.

After the first attack ended in failure, he guessed that King Renly decided to probe their defences by sending in skirmishers armed with bows, crossbows and stolen rifles.

'Good shot,' Walking said with a grin as he finished reloading and aimed over the top of the barricade, fired and cheered. 'Got the bastard!'

A crossbow bolt tore through the front of Walking's throat, blood splattered everywhere and the man fell backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thump.

'Walking!' Hassan shouted and crouched over his friend, still barely alive and gripping the bolt in his neck.

He tried to speak but blood gushed out of his mouth, dribbling over his cheeks before, finally, he went still.

'Back in the fight boy!' Dommel ordered him.

Hassan wanted to protest but he couldn't, he looked at his friends corpse one last time, and then fired at the enemy, hoping he killed the bastard who shot Walking.

'For the Crown!' he yelled as he fired and struck an enemy armed with a crossbow.

As the last echo of his battle cry was consumed by the other sounds, the blasts, the shouting and the sobbing, the enemy began to retreat.

'Situation?' Snowhill asked and Dommel responded.

'Six dead, five wounded. I've sent them back to Watsend already.'

'Good. Alright men,' he addressed the platoon. 'Look through the dead men's packs, find their ammunition and keep it. Not a cartridge can go to waste.'

Hassan turned to look at Walking, and opened his cartridge case, taking out the paper rolls and putting them in his own bag.

'Prepare!' Dommel shouted and Hassan looked up to see another enemy column preparing for an attack over the bridge.

Hassan once again found himself in the front rank, kneeling, and rifle loaded. They came on just as they did before, but this time there was something different. The men in front were carrying strange banners or standards, a long pole with another at the top hanging about a dozen or so bags or something like that. Maybe they were signalling devices or something? It didn't matter, Hassan would shoot them as well. It was his job.

'First rank! Take aim!'

Before Dommel could finish the order the men carrying the strange standards lowered them and began running, the sacks on them blocking the view of the men behind completely.

'FIRE!'

Hassan fired and, thanks to the smoke, he couldn't see a thing, instead he reloaded his rifle in time for the next order to fire. When it came, through the brief gap in the smoke which existed for a moment, he could see the standards were still there, still blocking the view of the enemy.

'Hold fire!' Snowhill ordered. 'They're blocking our bullets. Hold fire!'

Hassan kept his eyes on the enemy, the standards creating a wall of cloth over the bridge and then, just before the Farosi side of the bridge, the standards were raised and a wave of Westerosi, all in half plate armour and armed with swords, maces and war axes, stormed over the bridge, ready for the fight.

'FIRE AT WILL!' ordered Dommel.

Hassan fired, not even sure if he found a target.

'Retreat!' Snowhill ordered, the gap between them was too small for effective volley fire and the enemy hadn't had their morale damaged by fire to break before the push of bayonets.

'Run for it!' Hassan shouted and was on his feet in a flash, running as fast as he could up the road, hedges and drystone walls on either side of him.

He didn't know how log he'd been running when he was gripped from behind and yanked to a stop. He turned to see it was Corporal Taff.

'Get in line soldier!' he shouted and threw Hassan into a line, three deep, spanning the width of the road.

Hassan found himself in the third line this time, and ahead of him he saw the onrush of Westerosi troops. The road was wider here, and the standards couldn't cover all of the men.

'Prepare to fire!' Dommel ordered.

As usual, the same orders were repeated, and Hassan was waiting for the order to fire.

'Third rank!' Dommel shouted at last. 'FIRE!'

He did so and began to reload, easier standing up than it was on one knee, when there came a blast and suddenly the air above the enemy was filled with a black cloud and a snap of fire. Dozens of the enemy, including the standard bearers, were shredded by the air bursting shell.

'True Queen bless the artillery!' Snowhill declared. 'Now keep firing boys! The True Queen is with us! You're the best of the 87th now let those heathens know it!'

'First rank! Take aim! Fire!'

The order came again and as Hassan and the third rank fired there came another air bursting shell, killing even more of the enemy.

'Let's give them the cold steel boys!' Snowhill ordered and pointed his sword at the enemy. 'Charge!'

'Charge!'

Hassan cheered as the order came and he rushed forwards as fast as he could, bayonet aimed at the enemy. He rushed one of them and his blade went through the unprotected neck of one man, he then swung his rifle butt into the face of another man in a kettle helmet, cracking the nose and jaw before the man was run through by Snowhill's sword. Blood splattered onto Hassan's face as he fought madly in this bizarre miasma of violence.

When it ended Hassan sank to his knees and looked to his hand, expecting to see his rifle but instead he realised he was holding a glaive, the blade coated in blood. Where his firearm went, he had no idea so he dropped his newly found weapon and picked a rifle up front the hands of his now dead comrade who was still gripping it even in death.

'Lad,' Snowhill said to him, 'remind me to never piss you off.'

'Sir?' he asked.

'You were fighting like a demon there.'

'I'm sorry sir. I just lost control of myself.'

'No lad, no, it was a compliment. Keep it up.'

'Thank you, sir,' he said with a smile.

'Now form up lad. They'll be back.'

Hassan staggered towards the rest of the platoon who had formed across the road, noticing that they had formed up by a fork in the road, one, he knew, would lead up hill towards Watsend itself and the other to the hill and was a part of the main road. From where they were they had a good view of most of the battlefield and Hassan didn't like what he could see. It looked like they had all been pushed off the stream and the Westerosi were crossing it at the bridges and over the stream itself. Worse, he could see cavalry crossing the bridges.

'This is bad,' Taff muttered.

'I know, sir.'

'If we don't get our reinforcements soon, we'll lose the battle.'

There came a marching noise from behind them and they turned around to see two more platoons of men, all missing some men and looking like they had been fighting just as hard, were joining them.

'Who's in command,' asked Snowhill and a brief discussion followed where they tried to work out who had seniority.

One of them, Lieutenant Rockson, graduated a year before Snowhill so he took command.

'Our new mission is to hold this fork from whatever comes at us. It looks like we'll be in for a fight any minute now.'

He pointed down towards the stream where they could see a large force of cavalry crossing the bridge.

'Understood,' Lieutenant Sonwell, the other commander, said and soon ordered the men into a long line, four ranks deep, just behind the fork in the road on a slight rise in the ground. Unlike down by the river, this area of the battlefield was mostly open with only a few hedges, mostly wide fields of recently cut barley.

At the other end of the fields the enemy cavalry were quickly forming up, preparing for a charge. Afterall, they were just a thin line of men, how could they ever stand up against the might of Westeorsi armoured knights?

Just as the cavalry began their charge another air burst shell detonated just above the cavalry, many of the knights were shredded by the shell but the charge went on.

'First Rank!' a Sergeant from another platoon who, he guessed, had seniority over the other NCOs. 'Take aim!'

Hassan wasn't in the front rank this time, he was in the second.

'Fire!'

The first rank let loose with their rifles and Hassan readied himself, Corporal Taff was next to him and Goonlin was there as well.

'Second rank! Take aim!'

'Get the leader,' Hassan whispered to Goonlin.

'Fire!'

Hassan fired and wasn't sure if he hit his mark, the smoke made it difficult to see, and Goonlin was silent, focused purely on his duty in the firing line, as was everyone.

…

Sam was just managing to keep up with Renly as they walked along the walls of White Hill, the castle close to Watsend and, from whose battlements, they could see the Farosi positions. The fighting had started earlier in the day, Renly had expected the enemy to have been defeated by the time he arrived with the main force of the enemy while Lord Tarly commanded the vanguard. When they arrived an hour ago they saw that the battle was still going on.

Was Sam surprised over this? No, he wasn't. He expected the Farosi garrison to put up strong resistance, but at least they had been driven off the bridges and stream. However, across the rest of the fields, from what he could see, the Farosi were using skirmish lines to slow down the advance. On the western side of the battlefield though the enemy were still fighting a hard battle over a walled farmhouse or compound right by the bridge.

Sam pulled his binoculars up to his eyes and looked at the farmhouse, Farosi troops were on the walls and firing out of the windows down at the Westerosi who were using some sort of log as an improvised battering ram.

'We need to move ladders up to the farmhouse,' he told Renly.

'Agreed,' he responded and sent one of his hangers on to organise it.

'And we need to press the attack, now. For all we know the rest of the Farosi army could be minutes or days away for all we know.'

'I am aware of that, Ser Samwell. Most of our men are still tired from the march, I'll give them half an hour and then we attack. Now, where can we put our artillery?'

'Nowhere,' he answered.

'That's not what I want to hear.'

'Our gunners have had less than a month to train, their artillery crews have trained for years. The moment they see our guns they will target them and we cannot hope to match them in an artillery duel.'

'So what should we do with our guns?'

'Keep them hidden, deploy the skirmishers to engage the Farosi and keep our infantry out of the fight until their skirmish lines have been weakened.'

'I see.'

'And for the love of the Seven!' he shouted, exasperated now, at what he saw through his binoculars at the fork in the road. 'Will those idiots stop launching cavalry charges on Farosi lines?'

A massive force of cavalry tried to charge a small force of Farosi infantry on a wide field with no cover. Most of them had been gunned down and the survivors were already retreating.

'How were they meant to know that would happen?' Renly asked as he looked at the same thing through his pocket telescope, taken from the body of a Farosi officer.

'Because I warned everyone it would happen.'

…

After the cavalry charge against them failed, it looked as if the Westerosi began to use their brains. Archers, riflemen and crossbowmen swarmed up the hill in small groups, crouched behind long blades of grass, rocks or dead horses and began firing from cover. After that the lines scattered and they began to return fire, taking cover where they could. Hassan and Goonlin were together behind a boulder, when one was aiming and firing the other was reloading.

'How many now?' Goonlin asked him.

'Nineteen,' he answered. 'That I know of.'

'Good,' Hassan said and fired. 'Eighteen now.'

'Eighteen? You're falling behind mate,' he laughed and aimed over the boulder, taking his time to aim. He sighted one, an archer who was about to release an arrow at someone else.

Hassan tightened the trigger and fired. When the smoke cleared he saw that the archer was not standing anymore.

'Twenty.'

There was a sudden cheer and both men looked over the boulder to see a new enemy force, made up of infantry in gambesons and light mail and not carrying shields.

'Reform!' came the call and the two men were on their feet, rushing together to join with others and form a line.

As they went, other soldiers rushing together, some men were picked off by arrows and bullets but they kept their discipline, even as many of their brothers in arms were picked off around them.

'Where's the bloody artillery?' Goonlin shouted as he and Hassan knelt in the front rank.

'First rank! Take aim! Fire!'

Hassan fired but he saw the enemy weren't attacking in their usual large blocks, they were loose, fluid, running wildly and when they heard the word fire they all made a sudden movement trying to dodge the bullets. Some were killed but just as many survived. This seemed to spur them on.

The order to fire soon went through the other ranks and then it was Hassan's turn again.

'Fire!'

Hassan pulled the trigger, hoping he managed to hit one of them but it was almost impossible to tell. They were getting closer and closer with every second that passed.

'All ranks rise! Prepare for combat!'

Hassan stood up and braced himself, holding his bayonet at the ready while the other ranks stood tighter together and presented their bayonets, the officers firing off a few shots from their revolvers before drawing their swords and preparing to fight.

The shock of the impact lasted for a moment and soon Hassan was in the midst of another brutal hand to hand fight. He lunged with his bayonet and stabbed a man through the neck but he had to duck to avoid a sword, the offender soon fell dead at Goonlin's bayonet.

The enemy were good fighters, swords, long knives and axes taking a heavy toll against the cumbersome bayonets on rifles. Still, Farosi discipline won out and after the shock of the attack wore off, the order to advance was given and the enemy were driven back by the deadly push of bayonets, quick jabs and thrusts just as deadly as hacking and slashing. When the last of the attackers were killed Hassan thought he could have a moment to breathe but before him he could see the enemy skirmishers, crossbows, longbows and rifles ready.

'Take cover!' someone shouted as the volley tore through them.

Hassan felt blood splatter onto him as he ducked down and fired off a quick shot at the enemy, behind the skirmishers the field was filled with more lightly armed enemy soldiers who looked ready to repeat the last attack.

'Withdraw!' Snowhill's voice cut through the chaos and everyone was happy to agree with the order.

Hassan was soon running for his life up towards Watsend, eventually reaching a row of trees which he, and everyone else, continued going through. Some men stopped behind the trees and fired, Hassan looked over his shoulder to see the enemy coming straight at them, so he kept running.

And then the ground disappeared under his boots and he was falling.

The sunken lane, he remembered. He hadn't realised they were running straight towards it in their retreat. Looking right and left he saw that most of the others had made the same mistake, one poor bugger had even fallen onto his own bayonet in the process, but a few others, including Snowhill, remembered the lane and skidded down the steep slope.

The lane was flanked by trees on both sides, making it much cooler than the rest of the battlefield, but the sound of gunfire could still be heard in the distance. This was still a battlefield.

'Alright, take a moment to breathe,' Snowhill barked at them, Sergeant Dommel and another he didn't recognise, were flanking the officer. 'The other Lieutenants are dead, I'm in command. We will withdraw to Watsend itself next. It will be easier to defend.'

'What if reinforcements don't arrive?' Hassan asked him.

'They will,' he answered, not willing to give danger any consideration.

'Don't hassle him,' Taff warned Hassan. 'He's got enough to worry about.'

'HIGHGARDEN!'

All their eyes snapped to the far end of the sunken lane which had suddenly filled with Westerosi soldiers rushing towards them.

'Let's move!' Dommel roared as he fired a parting shot at the enemy.

All the men who had been on the ground a moment before were now up and running again, reloading as they ran and firing at the enemy. On their left as they ran the upper edge of the sunken lane began to be lined with Westerosi, stopping themselves before they could fall but a few failed. One fell onto the ground right next to Hassan and before he could stand Hassan kicked the man in the face and finished him off with a quick bayonet thrust. The race continued as the enemy began to slide down the bank of the lane and joined the chase.

'Don't bloody load!' the other sergeant shouted. 'Just bloody run!'

Hassan wasn't loading but he started running faster as the enemy battle cry's grew louder and louder. At last they emerged out of the lane and into the sun on the end of a road and what they saw wasn't good. Across the battlefield, the Farosi were being overrun as thousands of Westerosi stormed over the stream. In the distance, at Millers Hill was even being attacked, the men at the top of that hill were firing down and, worst of all, it looked like they were cut off from the front gates of Watsend.

'What do we do?' asked the other sergeant.

'We cut our way to the, yes we cut our way to the closest rampart,' he told them and pointed to the flat hill west of Watsend with his sword.

'There's at least five hundred of them between us and the hill,' said Taff, looking over his shoulder at the enemy drawing closer behind them in the lane.

'We cut our way through!' Snowhill repeated. 'Form a flying wedge. I am the tip, sergeants of the flanks. Three ranks deep! Crown! Senate! People!'

'Crown! Senate! People!' Hassan echoed as he quickly took his place in the wedge.

Shaped like an arrowhead, the wedge was designed for a group of men to attack enemy infantry quickly in the event of a breakout.

'Alright boys! The enemies before us and behind us! Stop for nothing till we reach the rampart! Charge!'

He waved his sword and they all began to run, keeping tight together bayonets forward. Hassan was at the front, Goonlin just behind him, and he knew that this would not be an easy fight. He kept running, he didn't stop running, he didn't break formation. He just ran with his brothers. The enemy before them were focused on the ramparts, not expecting an attack from behind and none of them were able to form a line to oppose them. He speared a man with his bayonet, forced the body onto the ground with his speed and pulled it out, only narrowly breaking formation but was soon back in it. This was repeated again and again as the survivors of three platoons raced towards their only hope of survival.

Snowhill fought bravest of them all, leading his platoon into the fray, sword slashing and stabbing at anyone who tried to oppose him.

At last they were going up a steep bank towards the closest rampart to the wall of Watsend, the men on it happy to see more Farosi as they laid down covering fire for them. Between each large rampart was a small gap and it was through these that they retreated, finally having some level of safety.

What Hassan wanted was to drop his rifle, fall on the ground and go to sleep but the needs of war wouldn't allow it. They had to fight again.

'Onto the ramparts!' Snowhill ordered and Hassan and Goonlin shared a look, one of mutual exhaustion and a dedication to duty.

They got onto the ramparts, the large structures of earth and wood giving them a good height advantage over the enemy who were still attacking.

'Fire at will!' an officer Hassan didn't recognise ordered and he did so, firing at anyone not dressed in blue he could see.

After a few more shots he reached into his cartridge case and felt for ammunition, but he couldn't find any. He was out of ammo.

Needing more he turned to the back of the rampart where extra cartridges were usually kept and as he went to the box he saw movement on the hills behind them. Something was coming. He looked again and saw it, large, fast moving squadrons of men on horses, cresting the hill by the thousand and riding down at full speed towards the ramparts.

'Reinforcements!' he shouted and everyone looked to them at his call. 'The cavalry!'

There was a chorus of cheers at his declaration and soon Light Horsemen were galloping up to the ramparts, dismounting and racing to relieve them, carbines loaded.

…

'It wasn't long after we arrived that General Wago and the rest of the Heavy Horse entered the battle,' explained General Tips. 'With the Light Horse reinforcing the ramparts, the Heavy Horse counter charged the enemy. They were not prepared for it and were soon routed back to north of the stream. Once that happened the rest of our infantry arrived, and we won the battle.'

'No we haven't,' said General Morsey. 'The Battle of Watsend has only just begun.'

He had arrived with the infantry after the fighting had finished that day. He had based himself in the town Watsend in the largest inn which had a large upstairs common area, a large table had been set up in its middle on which a map of the area had been placed. The generals and other senior officers were there, waiting for Morsey's orders.

'Brigadier Prensk,' he said and looked to the exhausted man. 'You did well. Your men held the line for hours and won us the first day of this battle.'

'I lost a lot of good men, but they did their duty, they are now with the True Queen.'

'No doubt. Now, Brigadier, I'll have the Eighth Corps kept out of the fighting for the rest of the battle if I can, they've done enough for now.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Anyway,' he said and addressed the other officers. 'At the moment most of our forces have arrived at Watsend, our artillery is being put into position, and infirmary and supply depots are being built. Excellent work gentlemen, now, the plan will be to hold this position, and wait, allow Renly to batter himself against our lines.'

'Doesn't this risk losing all the initiative?' asked General Tammon.

'No, we control the ground, and we will not nail all of our men to the ramparts. Only a third of our men will ever be on the ramparts, the rest will remain in reserve, to be moved to wherever needed for a counter attack or a defence. Tomorrow the real fight for Watsend will begin.'

 **AN: And the Battle of Watsend has begun. The armies of Renly and General Morsey have converged on this tiny town, blood has been spilled and smoke has filled the air. Who shall win? The courage and honour of Westeros or the discipline and gunpowder of Farsos?**

 **Anyway, I'm sorry this one took so long to write but it is a beast of a chapter at over nine thousand words. Anyway, the next part will be out between now and the end of time. I hope you all enjoy.**


End file.
